The Daughter of the Star
by sammie28
Summary: Caspian and his bride, the queen with the blood of the stars flowing in her veins. From the perspectives of those around them. "Voyage of the Dawn Treader" and "The Silver Chair".
1. Lucy

**The Daughter of the Star**  
by Sammie

DISCLAIMER: Not mine.

RATING: K+ (I'm so bad at this)

SUMMARY: Caspian and his bride, the queen with the blood of the stars flowing in her veins, from the perspectives of those around them. From "Voyage of the Dawn Treader" and "The Silver Chair".

AUTHOR'S NOTES:  
- I never thought terribly much about Ramandu's Daughter until that sub-plotline in "PC" - yes, the non-canon one even Popplewell and Barnes admitted to doubting. (And even more oddly, by the account of a viewer who had not read the books but saw an early preview of the film, "VDT" doesn't deal with Caspian's marriage at all - even though it's canon! ? )

So that got me thinking: why does Caspian fall for RD? Lewis leaves us just enough tantalizing clues about her personality and what attracts Caspian to her, and there are interesting ways he hints at timelines in their story. And so while everything in between I've clearly made up, I'm trying to stick as firmly as I can to canon.

And no, Caspian could not have married Ramandu's daughter out of loveless duty; her very nature and upbringing cause serious problems for a "duty" argument.

- unbeta-ed

- lots of beautiful lines, etc. from other stuff I've read

- not a purist, but definitely in favor of CANON

- I don't even pretend to be able to write 1950s, Oxbridge-style English dialogue. Sorry.

- There's a rather overwhelming number of male POVs...but then Lewis doesn't really give us many Narnian women which haven't come over from our world!

* * *

LUCY

She had not understood what beauty was until she saw her.

Beauty, Lucy suddenly realized in that moment, wasn't even the beauty spell in Coriakin's book. Susan was beautiful, and the spell would have made her, Lucy, beautiful, but, Lucy marveled, now she understood what ASLAN meant by beauty.

The girl before her was what Lucy had always imagined a true lady should look like. Of course, having been a queen, Lucy the Valiant knew that the nobility come in all different shapes, sizes, and personalities, but there was something intangible about this one standing before them - and she inspired just a little awe. She was a great lady; Lucy knew this, as the young queen had met enough noblemen and noblewomen in her life to know who was truly worth knowing and who was not.

It did not matter that this lady before them was not done up like all the courtly women. She wore a simple blue frock, gathered right under her breasts and flowing down in a long skirt to her ankles. It had no lace, no embellishment. Her hair flowed freely down her back, pulled back only slightly by a blue ribbon and nothing else. She was barefoot. In dress, she looked like a common villager.

She moved like a queen, however; she possessed a grace and an aura of gentle authority that belied her youth. Her eyes seemed both innocently young and old with experience at the same time, her face open and kind. Lucy felt rather conflicted: the lady seemed so otherworldly but, at the same time, somebody with whom she could chat for hours over tea. Still, Lucy could not pinpoint what it was exactly about this girl that so astonished her. There was an intangible, almost indescribable quality about her - both otherworldly but incredibly earthbound as well.

Lucy turned to look at the others; she could see Reepicheep, cautious but welcoming; Edmund, cautious and wary - fool him once, shame on the one who fooled him, but he would not be fooled twice; Eustace, who looked a little dumbstruck and unsure of himself. They were all standing; they knew greatness when they saw it.

Caspian stared at her like a man out of his wits.

She hospitably asked why they had not eaten, and when asked, explained about the sleepers. Lucy suddenly recognized the knife, and the lady confirmed her thoughts, giving her a small smile, the type shared by two who share an understanding.

The knife was to be held here in honor while the world lasted. On this island, Aslan kept something so precious, something which had been used in the worst possible way for the best possible purpose. And this girl played a part in guarding it. Aslan had entrusted this to her care.

The intended victim of that knife - Lucy marveled at how greatly Edmund changed since his betrayal - looked wary. "'...When I look in your face I can't help believing all you say: but then that's just what might happen with a witch too.'" Lucy had never been prouder of her brother; he had learned so much since his encounter with the White Witch and knew enough of magic to be cautious. "'How are we to know you're a friend?'"

There was no offense given and none taken. The girl merely smiled her gentle smile, her face still as open and honest - and thus, beautiful - as it ever was. "'You can't know. You can only believe - or not.'" There was no malice, no defenseness; it was a simple statement of fact, much like anybody might say the water looked blue or the Dawn Treader's sail was purple. She did not apologize for who she was, but nor was there any arrogance about it. Here she was, and this was the way it was; they could take it or leave it.

Lucy pondered the lady's response to Edmund. They could not know about her; they could only believe her or not. A witch would certainly have simply reassured them and then entrapped them; conversely, this lady did not seem to wish to force their decision either way. Her words had a recognizable feel to them - for some odd reason, there was an air of some odd familiarity about her, although Lucy could never have thought of where she had heard these words before or met her before.

"'Course he isn't safe. He's not a tame lion. But he's good."

The voice was as clear as a bell, and Lucy brought her head up instantly, looking about. The others had not noticed her startle; they stood with their backs to her. Only the girl, who was directly facing her, noticed; there was no perceptible reaction except the mixture of concern and kindness on her face, directed at the young queen.

Lucy stopped short. This other girl was not Aslan; most certainly not. But she was one of his creatures, one who believed, one who lived so close to his land and who had the care of that knife. She had, in come ways, become Aslan-like, reflected him - the goal of all Aslan's creatures. She made no apology for who she was as his creature; they could believe her, or not.

Aslan was incomparably good, but he could not be controlled by anybody else. As Aslan's creature, and a steward of the knife, this lady was good - but she was not tame. She was not obliged to answer to anybody - even to Edmund the Just, King of Narnia - except Aslan himself.

Lucy suddenly understood her tiny sense of deja vu. The lady's entire countenance seemed to reflect Aslan's own. She was not Aslan - most certainly not! - but she reflected him in tiny, odd ways. It was just like how Reepicheep and Glenstorm, for example, reflected all Lucy found of Aslan's courage and goodness and wisdom, whatever faults they had. This lady, too, as a creature of Aslan ought, reflected in some small amount what Lucy adored so very much in the great Lion.

Well, they _were_ near the end of the world, near His country.

It made sense that Reepicheep would recognize her greatness. Dear Reep, so brave and a little vain when they first met, but now just so brave. He had, Lucy felt, become even more Aslan-like in his qualities in the intervening three years: brave and fearless, though he had dropped some of his vanity. He certainly was not the Lion; there was only one. But he was dropping those un-Aslan-like qualities. Of course Reepicheep would realize greatness when he saw it.

In Lucy's own spirit, too, she felt at rest. She sometimes felt uncertain in anticipation of the future; going to the the Dark Island, she felt dread; but here at Ramandu's Island, she felt a joyful eagerness. She hoped her spirit had become keen enough to begin to sense good and evil when she saw it, and right now she felt the same uncertainty but peace she felt so many, many years ago - in Narnian time! - when they first met Father Christmas, or even better - in that dam when the Beavers described the son of the Emperor-over-the-sea.

The travelers stared at her longer, deciding whether or not to trust her. There was hesitation, and Reepicheep drank to her. Caspian paused in his staring only long enough to fill the Mouse's cup.

Hungry, they fell to the food on the table. Lucy wondered about it being ASLAN'S table. So whoever was here guarded not only the Stone Knife but Aslan's own table, which Aslan himself set for travelers. Lucy had never felt more envious of a mere gatekeeper, because gatekeeper - steward - was essentially what the girl was.

She was, Lucy thought, what humble service was - she already understood what Lune had said so many, many centuries ago in Narnian time about being a ruler. She awoke the day in song, watched over Aslan's table and the Stone Knife with faithfulness, and had tended to the Sleepers with great patience. There was no bitterness in her about her lot. Perhaps it was this sweet humility and service to Aslan which was her stunning beauty.

"'In the world from which my friends come,'" Caspian was saying now, "'they have a story of a prince or a king coming to a castle where all the people lay in an enchanted sleep.'" He looked very earnestly at the girl, his eyes shining. "'In that story he could not dissolve the enchantment until he had kissed the Princess.'"

Lucy nearly choked on her food, swallowing hard as her eyes watered; next to her, Eustace nearly spit out his wine and started hacking. Edmund tried unsuccessfully not to snort in laughter, then hastily tried to cover it with faked coughing.

Caspian had not yet taken his eyes off their hostess.

Eustace looked like he was about to whisper about the rudeness of staring. Ed was looking rather amused. "He could not be more clear about his desire to kiss her, you know," he whispered out of earshot.

Lucy just smiled. "I think he's rather adorable in his bumbling attempt to court her."

"He's most likely never had to court a woman. They most likely throw themselves at him, like S - "

"Don't remind me." Lucy groaned. "I don't want to understand."

Caspian looked earnestly at the lady, already unconsciously leaning towards her. She only smiled. "'But here, it is different,'" she replied gently. "'Here, he'" - reigning king of Narnia or not! - "'cannot kiss the Princess till he has dissolved the enchantment.'"

Ed's eyes nearly fall from his sockets. "Good night," he whispered. "She's turned down a king!"

* * *

"'And now for the Lord Rhoop.'" Caspian, having spoken, turned to the head of the table.

Lucy was startled when she noticed the star's daughter again, standing there behind the haggard lord. The lady had, seemingly, faded away, her task done, having greeted the visitors and introduced her father and welcomed the morning (and what a welcome). She had seemed to disappear into the background when her father spoke, and while it was clear that Drinian and the crew had seen her when they arrived, having uncovered their heads, she had said nothing as the crew discussed sailing to the World's End.

She was not an attention-grabber, Lucy thought, and felt rather rueful again about the spell to become beautiful. She had to admit to reveling in the idea that suitors would want to come to see her, as the center of attention, but it was nothing, nothing, nothing like having heard Ramandu and his daughter sing as the morning came. It was so wildly beautiful, and yet they were the only ones who had heard it, and the lack of a wide audience didn't seem to matter to either Ramandu or his daughter.

Rhoop had silently come from the ship, entirely unnoticed. The exhausted lord now sat in a chair; Ramandu's daughter stood next to him, her hand still on his chair, as if she had just helped him into it. She touched his shoulder gently as her father approached noiselessly, and Rhoop seemed to relax.

Lucy had never felt more comfort and happiness. Lord Rhoop, rescued by his friend's son and now king, would have a dreamless, restful sleep here - here with his friends, at Aslan's own table, and with the very ones to whom Aslan had entrusted so much.

The star placed his hands on Rhoop; the beleaguered lord reached out one hand to Lucy and one to Caspian, and then feel asleep.

"'Poor Rhoop,'" Lucy said softly. She felt somebody watching her and looked up to see Ramandu's daughter smiling, and Lucy felt herself smile too.

* * *

Lucy could not help but feel some sympathy for Caspian as he insisted on his going to the World's End, with Reepicheep. Who would not wish to see Aslan's country? Yet she could not excuse the kind of behavior he was exhibiting. She was a ruler of Narnia: that meant putting the country before herself. It was the same for any other ruler. How could Caspian not understand this?

"'You are the King of Narnia,'" Reepicheep said, both firmly but reverently - Caspian was his king, after all. "'You break faith with all of your subjects...if you do not return. You shall not please yourself with adventures as if you were a private person.'"

Quite right, Lucy nodded; Reepicheep, of anybody, would understand duty. And not only that, Caspian would break faith with Ramandu's daughter, having nearly promised her to return. Lucy hoped she would not have to resort to that type of emotional blackmail in order to make him realize his duty, but if Caspian continued to be bullheaded, she just might.

Caspian went for his sword.

Right. "'And,'" she reminded him, "'you've almost promised Ramandu's daughter to go back.'"

It had, if not the entirely desired effect, a somewhat beneficial one, as Caspian stopped. Apparently his desire to be with the star's daughter was still potent enough to make him hesitate.

But it was more than that, Lucy wanted to add. Wasn't the lady everything that Caspian should have listened to? He could not please himself with random adventures, as Reepicheep had said: Ramandu's daughter had pointed out, so very gently, that he ought not go around kissing women, even if they had the honor of watching over Aslan's table and the Stone Knife, before he had finished his quest and his duty to Aslan. Honor and faithful duty to Aslan came first; Ramandu's daughter had already pointed this out to him on her father's island, and Caspian was forgetting again.

She would be good for him, Lucy thought.

* * *

Many days later, they stood by on the deck of the Dawn Treader. Their rowboat was ready, Reepicheep's coracle inside. She suddenly stepped away from the others, who were speaking to Caspian, and hurried to Drinian.

The captain bowed. "Your Majesty."

"Do take Caspian back to Ramandu's daughter."

Drinian looked surprised. "Well, should his Majesty decide so, but - "

Lucy crossed her arms. "I suppose I cannot make you do anything when I am gone," she replied, a little more tartly than she meant to do, "but I am asking you."

"Yes, ma'am." Drinian drew himself up.

"He will feel better when he gets back to Ramandu's Island," Lucy assured the captain as she had earlier with Caspian. "And she will do him a world of good."

As she turned to go, Drinian suddenly said, "Reepicheep asked the same."

"Reepicheep!" Lucy turned in surprise back to the captain.

Drinian looked serious, his eyes on his king, and then moving between the Mouse and the young queen regnant. "Is seeing her again so important?"

"Only if Caspian has got any sense in his head at all," Lucy replied. 


	2. Drinian

**The Daughter of the Star**  
by Sammie

DISCLAIMER: Not mine.

RATING: K+, I hope.

* * *

DRINIAN

Aslan had a sense of humor.

As he watched his king with the star's daughter, Drinian was completely convinced that His Majesty is completely besotted. Completely.

Did he say completely?

The king has been of age long enough to have become thoroughly sick of the ambitious mothers throwing their daughters at him. Telmarine, dwarf, Archenlander, Calormene, Galmian... The captain had already heard him muttering about remaining celibate for the rest of his life. Of course the young ruler dared not say that aloud. What the new Narnia needed was for King Caspian to marry and to produce an heir (King Caspian the Eleventh?) who was as good and kind and firm as he was - to raise his son to be as good a king as he was.

No pressure, of course, upon the poor boy.

This journey, as blessed by Aslan, went to the far reaches of the East. And just as they found the lords - just as they finished their quest - the king found the one woman he actually seemed to want.

Drinian was a little unsure of the reception the lady would receive; by now it was clear that the young monarch would do all in his power to convince her to return with him to Narnia as his bride. (And despite the young man's dashing looks, Drinian was, for the first time, NOT assured of his being accepted. The lady seemed to care little for the power or the title.)

The sailors were not especially receptive. A woman on board a ship was, in sailors' lore, a curse; in addition, Pittencream was spreading tales, and while the crew was less likely to listen to him now than they had been before they went to the World's End (without him), they still knew him better than this unknown lady with the strange father.

The king was walking with her up the gangplank to the deck, his free hand covering her hand on his arm. When she appeared, there was instant shuffling. Drinian noted with not a little bit of amusement as all the men seemed to stand up a little straighter and attempt to suck in their stomachs a little more. (A little too much good food at Aslan's table.) He stepped onto the deck and bowed to her, expecting her to give him her hand to kiss. She did not.

All right. This lady needed lessons in court etiquette.

"The Lord Drinian," came the introduction. Drinian did not hear much of the rest of the introduction, but focused on her face. She seemed to be listening intently to the king.

"My lady," Drinian greeted.

"His Majesty speaks very highly of you," she said, her voice soft and lilting, "especially in your ability as a sailor despite Telmarine ignorance of the sea."

"His Majesty is really too generous," Drinian replied with a smile.

"Nonsense," the king intoned. "It was and is well-deserved."

"We are quite eager to meet you, ma'am." Drinian inclined his head toward her. "The king has been quite generous in his praise of you." He had the satisfaction of seeing the boy's face turn red.

"No doubt for some mischievous reason of his own," she replied, and for a moment Drinian was shocked until he looked at her more closely; her eyes and smile were brimming with mirth and merriment. Good night, he thought. She was _teasing_ the king. No one dared that except very close friends.

* * *

They wintered there on the island, and it was just as the star had said - food on the table every day. The men exclaimed over the range and the excellent taste of the food so much that poor Rendridge, who had served as the galley cook the entire time, was beginning to feel rather defeated. Between water which was drinkable light and a feast that never stopped, which poor cook could compete?

Drinian nearly laughed himself stupid watching his men - grown, burly men - fall over their feet in an attempt to bolster Rendridge's spirits and praise his food and pretend - in between delighted bites - that Rendridge's cooking was just as good as the food on Aslan's table.

Every day the king seemed to disappear for a time, though apparently he always stayed somewhat nearby: different times different crew members spotted him with the star's daughter about the island. At first Pittencream's report of the woman as "beautiful but boring" sparked the sailors' interest, but they soon rapidly changed their minds.

Pittencream, Drinian could tell, was feeling very out of sorts. Unlike the lords, he had made the choice himself not to sail to the edge; every story about the lilies and the water were a painful reminder of what he had personally chosen to give up rather than simply a wistful longing to see something unknown, as these stories were to the lords. The only authority Pittencream was was over the star and his daughter, and while he held the attention of the crew for a few days over his stories about the two, they soon dismissed his comments about the father and daughter "stuffed shirts". That was because every evening she and her father joined the men of the Treader for dinner.

The first time they were awed and the meal began awkwardly, each man feeling like a poor beggar put at the king's table. They had become used to Caspian's more egalitarian ways, but now they were eating with, well, a star. The king was seated as the guest of honor at one end of the table, near Ramandu, who was serving; there conversation flowed more easily as the sailors, at ease with the king, talked away. At the other end, where Ramandu's daughter was, everyone seemed unusually quiet, speaking very little. The only person who seemed comfortable and wished to be down towards that end was the king, who would steal glances down at the lady at the other end of the table. Everyone else seemed nervous.

That was until Rynelf and Voluns the faun began to laugh so hard the former had to leave his seat and the latter nearly snorted wine through his nose (which, he insisted later, was a highly unpleasant sensation).

The king and the lords looked up from their end, and there were a row of faces all turned towards the end as the other two struggled to regain control of themselves. Near Rynelf and Voluns, the other crew members managed to maintain their composure a little longer, keeping their eyes on their plates, their shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

Ramandu was looking at his daughter with one of the fatherly looks of amused chastisement, and she only smiled, bright and innocent. The sailors near her kept their heads down, occasional snickers and guffaws making their way up the table to their colleagues, who were now dying of curiosity.

Voluns, who had been in the king's service since the night at the Dancing Lawn, understood too much of the tension between the new and the old Narnians to denounce Pittencream for his unflattering and incorrect statements, but Rynelf, as one new Narnian to another, had no such compunction. "Good night, Pitt," he replied sarcastically that evening. "The lady's intelligent and gentle and merry. I don't know who you were talking to all those days, but it sure wasn't her."

The second evening, Rendridge declared her a beautiful storyteller - so very different from the fantastic Calormene storytellers, but just as interesting. "Was that a teller of beautiful stories or the beautiful teller of stories?" Drinian asked, and Rendridge just grinned: "Both."

* * *

It had become bluntly obvious that the king intended to offer for her.

The men were whispering about it. Their initial distrust had rapidly disappeared, and they seemed to grow fonder of the young woman with each passing day. Most of all, Rhince said when he was asked, the king seemed very happy. Wasn't that important?

Of course it was important. The council that was now meeting in Drinian's cabin had always been loyal to the Caspian line. They would not want Caspian the Tenth to be unhappy. Hence, the meeting.

Lord Mavramorn opened his mouth and said with a heavy sigh, "We all know why we are here."

"I certainly do not see what the problem is with His Majesty's interest in the star's daughter," Rhoop said sharply, crossing his arms. "She is gentle, wise, and kind. She wouldn't marry him for his power and his wealth. What more do we want?"

"No one disagrees, Rhoop," Argoz replied. "But we must consider the king's throne, because he is too young to do so."

Restimar took a deep breath. "First, His Majesty's wife must produce him an heir, and most hopefully a second child. Argoz? Have we determined whether or not this lady is sufficiently of our kind to produce an heir?"

"Might we ask the king?" Voluns said hopefully.

Drinian snorted derisively.

"I assume that's a no." Voluns sighed.

"Voluns," Revilian frowned. "Doesn't the Narnian throne require some certain type of king or queen? Son of Adam and Daughter of Evelyn?"

"Daughter of Eve," Voluns replied quietly. "The four thrones at Cair Paravel required two Sons of Adam and two Daughters of Eve - the High King Peter, the Queen Susan, the King Edmund, and the Queen Lucy."

"Doesn't this automatically preclude the star's daughter? She is at most only half a Daughter of Eve."

"So it is not ideal," Voluns replied. "But the sons and daughters of Frank and Helen married dryads and naiads, so it is not unacceptable."

"But not ideal," Mavramorn repeated.

"But not unacceptable!" Rhoop cut in, rolling his eyes. Drinian tried to hide a smile. The other lords had once referred to Rhoop as the brave, romantic warrior. (It made sense, given his desire to visit the island where he thought dreams come true.) It was little wonder that Rhoop was in favor of the young pair.

The faun sighed unhappily. Drinian squeezed his sailor's shoulder.

"If he were to marry a daughter of Eve we could not be sure they would have a son - an heir," Argoz mused. "If he married her, there would be even less chance of this."

Rhoop looked grumpily at his glass of port.

"We are also concerned about her ability to survive the women's court." Revilian drew himself up. "Restimar, may he rest in peace, and I personally have experienced the ruthlessness in that."

Drinian groaned. He knew it just as well. His own wife had had her troubles in the cutthroat waters of the female court, but she (of course; why else would he have married her?) had the wit and vivacity and at least knew enough of society in order to navigate it.

"The queen must be cultured and beautiful and wise in the way of court politics," Revilian pointed out. "The other ladies of the courts in both Narnia and Archenland, and the Tarkheenas of Calormen - the queen of Narnia must tread that political line the way few can."

"The Lady has grown up alone with her father," Mavramorn pointed out. "Well, he and the three of us exiled sleepers for company. That is not good training."

"Training!" Rhoop groaned. "Training to be what?"

"Rhoop, you know better than any of us that the disdain of the women in the social court can kill a woman," Revilian snapped. Drinian immediately looked back and forth between the two lords, seeing a bitter look cross Rhoop's face and one of regretful but necessary pain on Revilian's. Evidently there was a painful story here that the lords all knew. "Do you want the same for this poor girl?"

Rhoop downed his glass of port. After a moment of hesitation, he murmured, "No. I would not wish that on anybody."

"I didn't think so," Revilian replied, more gently this time. "I don't think the king would want her spirit crushed, either. And while some of the ladies of the court deserve rightly to be called ladies, some most certainly do not."

"Can we not suggest any other lady to the king?" Argoz pleaded. "Drinian? Voluns? Three years and he hasn't met any women?"

"Oh, he's met a lot," Drinian replied dryly. "But then I met a lot of men who wanted to sail on the Dawn Trader. Most were unfit to be sailors."

To be honest, Drinian had agreed with Glenstorm: the daughter of King Nain of Archenland was a desirable connection. A further alliance with Archenland would protect against Calormen. In addition, the princess of Archenland was all that was excellent: long, black hair down her back, courtly, intelligent, beautiful, and a wonderful archer as well.

The king never seemed to give her a second look, beyond friendship. Aslan have mercy, Drinian mused to himself. If he had been Nain, he would have been insulted on his daughter's behalf; but Nain was a good, wise king.

It was not that Drinian disliked this daughter of Ramandu; far from it. She was unpolished in her beauty, a naturalness that many Telmarine women in the court lacked. Her simplicity enhanced her ability to enchant, and her lack of artifice strengthened her beauty.

She was, for somebody with so little contact with the rest of the world, wise and knowledgeable. Reepicheep had insisted upon Drinian taking His Majesty back to her, pointing out out that true wisdom comes not from a worldliness but a closeness to Aslan, and perhaps that was just what this star's daughter had. She was kind, Drinian acknowledged; most women would want little part in caring for three quarrelsome old men to whom she was not related, even if they slept.

She just wasn't queen material in any way.

"Speak to him."

Drinian snapped back to the present from his own private thoughts. "I beg pardon?"

"Speak to him," Argoz urged. "You are very close to him."

"This is his decision." Drinian refused to be dragged into this mess. "If you want to speak to him, you do it."

"Drinian - "

"I will agree to be there, but this decision is yours, not mine."

"Good," Rhoop commented from the corner.

"You must admit our concerns are legitimate."

"They are more than legitimate," Drinian agreed. "But the king's future path is his and Aslan's to decide."

* * *

He watched as the king and the young lady continued to study Coriakin's magical map together, their heads bowed and nearly touching. The king edged closer to the lady, almost unconsciously.

Drinian thought he ought to feel badly - it was almost like evasdropping - but he couldn't tear his eyes away.

He knew the rumors back home. They said the king was shallow; he looked at the outward appearance of women before deciding. (There might be some truth in that, given the squinty-eyed, freckled but kind daughter of the crazy duke of Galma.) They said the king was broken-hearted; he lost his soulmate (in the Golden Age queen) and so he hadn't married in three years. It was none of the above, however; Drinian should know, as he was one of the king's trusted advisors.

His Majesty had become cynical.

He was young, handsome - the orphaned king of Narnia. He didn't even have a troublesome mother, a dowager queen, to bother his bride. Which woman would not throw herself at him? Which matchmaking mama would not parade her daughters in front of him? Caspian had bemoaned the fact that he had become no more than the prize cut of meat in the market, a prize to be won rather than a man with feelings. He had thrown himself into his duties as king, and while Drinian did agree that Caspian had quite a bit of work to do given the centuries of animosity between the new and the old Narnians, he rather suspected that Caspian was inventing excuses to avoid having to marry, or, as he snorted derisively, "prance around like some show pony". One he had departed from a ball unfashionably (and rudely) early, muttering, "Why, they will want me to open my mouth so they can inspect my teeth."

One ambitious, social-climbing woman from the Seven Isles attempted to make it seem that he had compromised her, thus forcing the honorable king to marry her. She had sneaked into the king's room, dressed as a common maid, and then changed right there. The impropriety of a young, unmarried lady in the room of the young, unmarried king was enough to get a marriage proposal - or so she and her social-climber father hoped.

Thankfully, the first to arrive in that room was Trumpkin, retrieving some of the king's things for the voyage. His curmudgeonly attitude was made even more so when he discovered the plot. And while the king may have been too gentlemanly to embarrass the woman, the stolid dwarf, swinging a large sword threatingly, told the girl and her parents exactly what he thought of them. He then promised that, if this were to happen again, it would not be the flat of his sword he would be using.

The king was beaming from ear to ear as he gave Trumpkin yet another title.

Drinian admitted to becoming personally upset at the king's growing cynicism. He was rapidly losing faith in women in general, and the youth was too young to be so cynical. But what could he be, given that so many women simply wanted his power, rather than him? To them he was a pawn, not unlike the one he was under his uncle Miraz.

She murmured something, and Caspian instantly straightened, frowning as he contemplated the new information. He snapped his fingers, and Drinian watched as a new idea seemed to form in the king's mind. Drinian turned to watch the lady as she watched the king, and the captain suddenly felt reassurance wash over him as he watched the young pair. This was no mercenary, cold-hearted woman.

Her eyes shone. The lady never said much about her feelings, but then Drinian had always said that talk was cheap. Her eyes were bright with happiness when she was around the king. No one who saw the king and the star's daugther together could doubt their affection.


	3. Drinian, continued

**The Daughter of the Star**  
by Sammie

DISCLAIMER: Not mine.

RATING: K+, I hope.

* * *

DRINIAN, continued

The king returned to the ship that evening, much later than the soldiers who had just dined. The lords could hear the gangplank being pulled up, and the greetings of the sailors who were on watch, and then the door to the king's cabin opening and shutting.

After several minutes, Drinian held up his arm, gesturing towards the door for the lords to go first.

They filed across the deck, and the captain could hear some murmurs among the sailors. He knocked at the king's door.

"Who is it?"

"Drinian, Your Majesty."

"Come in." The door opened, and they found the king writing furiously; he did not look up. "I wished to speak to you, so it's good you've come. I've been discussing the end of the Lone Island slave trade and possibly angering Calormen, and I believe there is a solution. In the morning, if you would be so kind as to gather the lords, I wish to - " At the sound of many steps, Caspian looked up from his writing, looking surprised at the gathered entourage. "Well. Either you have read my mind or there is something else bothering you," he replied lightly as he stood, smiling. "Please, sit," he said, waving to the chairs in the room. "Is something the matter?"

The four lords looked at each other tensely, and Rhoop snorted. "You wanted to tell him," he said sourly and in an un-lord-like manner.

"Is something the matter?" Caspian repeated, his smile disappearing. He looked between Rhoop and the other three lords.

Argoz shifted on his feet, not taking his seat. The other two lords did not sit either; Rhoop plopped into a chair by the wall, the sour look still on his face, and crossed his arms. Argoz ignored him and turned to the king. "My liege, it has come to our attention that you may wish to make the daughter of Ramandu an offer of marriage."

"I intend to do so, yes," the king replied. Drinian was a little surprised at the matter-of-fact tone. So he had decided it already. "I will speak with her father before the week is out."

"We...you understand, Sire, that our loyalty was to you and to your father even before we left Narnia, before Miraz chased us away. Our loyalty is still to you."

"I have never questioned it." Caspian crossed his arms, his brow furrowing slightly as he leaned back in his chair. His eyes darted among the lords. "Speak freely."

The three lords exchanged looks. "We believe it highly unwise for you to offer for the lady," Argoz finally said.

Caspian stared at them, his stance unchanged. There was a long, tense silence, and then he burst out incredulously, "What possible objection could you have to her? She is kind, articulate, and she most certainly is not mercenary - not with her life here and the mere fact she's already turned me down once."

"She already turned him down once?" Rhoop could be heard murmuring.

"We believe she is a fine lady," Revilian replied, the other two nodding. "There is nobody who questions her character."

"Except that idiot Pittencream," Rhoop muttered under his breath.

"That was not our concern," Argoz continued, glaring at Rhoop to be quiet.

"Then," Caspian said sharply, "what is?"

Drinian could see the young king's Miraz look coming on and moved to intervene. "Sire, if I may speak to you privately for a moment?"

Caspian nodded, and the four lords left. "What, by the Lion's Mane, is happening? I demand an explanation."

"Sire," Drinian said quietly, "Please hear them out. There is no question of their loyalty and their desire to aid you. They may or may not be misguided, but they ARE thinking of you first."

Caspian stared at him, hard, as if trying to understand what was going on. He nodded, and Drinian opened the door to allow the lords back in. "I apologize. Please." He did not smile, but his tone had softened. "And you need not assure me of your loyalty or exchange the niceties about my throne. I am well aware of your loyalty to me and to my father; I would not have come to find you otherwise." He waved to the chairs. "Please."

This time they sat, and Caspian seated himself at the head of the table.

"Our first concern is political," Revilian began. "You know the role the women play in bolstering the throne. Prunaprismia was much more than the bearer of children to Miraz; she shaped the court circumstances in favor of her own husband and won public opinion to his side even before your mother's death."

"By the time we realized what was happening," Mavramorn picked up, "the tide had turned so much in Miraz's favor that even our wives were unable to reverse the damage done in the women's court. We know that the wives of those of us who were married before our exiles suffered; mine, who died while I was away, and we know that Lady Revilian" he nodded at his fellow lord "and the Lady Octesian had to be rescued from genteel poverty by your Majesty. Your mother, may she rest in peace, was not there to save you or to protect the wives loyal to her."

"The woman's court is as dangerous as the one we play, Sire," Revilian cut in. "Your wife must understand it and shape it."

Argoz took a deep breath. "This lady you court is wise, stately; she is a great lady - of that there is little doubt. But the world of the woman's court is a cruel one, and it kills even those who grow up in it. Sire, you need a woman who can navigate the stormy waters of female society, and the daughter of a star who has grown up with only her father and the three of us sleepers does not have the social knowledge and training to survive that cutthroat world, much less to manipulate the court to her and to your advantage. She will be lost in it, Sire, and her spirit may well be crushed in the process. You would not wish that for her."

Drinian sneaked a look at the king, and Caspian suddenly looked like the young man he was, his face bearing a stricken look, as if he had been blindsided. He had been so consumed by his feelings that the captain could tell he had not considered this.

"Is there not a princess near Narnia?" Argoz suggested. "Is Nain still ruling in Archenland? I heard he had a daughter. Did he have a daughter?" He groped for words. "Or even - I understood from the others that you have met two old Narnian queens in the last three years - queens who were extremely popular with their subjects. They would be ideal. They would understand this world of politics, having grown up in it."

Drinian groaned audibly, but Mavramorn cut in over him. "My king, they would be ideal. They would serve as a perfect wife: because they are already revered by the old Narnians, you would be guaranteed of their support. You already have the loyalty of the Telmarines - the new Narnians. The marriage would solidify your throne at home. In addition, either of the queens would understand the court both within the nation and internationally."

"No, no, no," Drinian cut in. "His Majesty will not marry Queen Susan or Queen Lucy."

"Why not?"

"They were called up from the great Narnian past. You might as well ask Caspian to marry the cousin of Caspian the Conqueror or some such disgusting proposition as such. We revere the past too much to do that. Besides, they have returned to their world."

"Their world?" Argoz looked baffled.

Drinian waved dismissively. They would discuss this later.

"Well, a princess from current times, then. I understand from the faun - "

" - Voluns - "

" - that Archenland has long been an ally of Narnia. Nain was ruling when we left; does he have any daughters?"

"He does," Caspian said quietly.

"One," Drinian replied.

"She would be an excellent choice. It would solidify your throne as legitimate, that another king would give his daughter to you in marriage; it would give us an ally against Calormen should the need arise. She, of course, would understand courtly life." The lord looked at Drinian, who was looking down at the wood of the floor, his arms crossed. "Is there a problem?"

Drinian simply shook his head slightly, indicating that it was a topic best left untouched for the moment.

"We have a second objection," Mavramorn then added quietly, and Drinian could tell that the lords were as upset by the king's dejection as he was. He supposed this is what landlubbers called kicking a horse while it was down, but perhaps it was for the king's own good.

"Our second reason involves her father." Argoz took a deep breath. "I know a little of the medical arts - not a great deal. But Sire, her father is a star. She is at least half of a star, and we cannot know if she is - of our kind."

"Daughter of Eve, I think Voluns called it," Rhoop mentioned.

"So?"

"Sire, you remember the problems you faced as the heir to the throne. You must produce an heir and a second to your throne in order to keep the peace in Narnia. Can you be assured that she is physically capable of giving you a child?"

"By the Lion's mane, you presume too much!" Caspian shouted as he jumped to his feet, his face flushed red. "We are not going to discuss fertility as if we were discussing brood mares - not mine nor anybody else's, and especially not a lady's!"

"Sire, we do not wish to upset you," Argoz replied gently. "But this is of the utmost importance. You understand well the succession to the throne. Even a young heir, such as you were, did not have the power to retain his own throne.

"It would be different had you a brother to inherit after you, but you do not. It would be different had you cousins to inherit after you, but you do not. In addition, any distant relative would be viewed suspiciously as pretenders and even more suspiciously by the old Narnians, who have come from over a millennium of oppression.

"Should you pass without issue, you leave Narnia unprotected, and your own queen - the lady you profess to care for - will be left vulnerable to the violence of whomever should come to the throne next. She must be able to produce you an heir, for both the sake of Narnia and for her own safety as a queen there. The star's daughter will be entirely unprotected in Narnia; she will have neither father nor brother to protect her should you die before the two of you have children. You must ask whether or not there is even the possibility for the two of you to bear children, for both the sake of your kingdom and for the sake of your future wife."

Drinian could see the blush in Caspian's face and felt sorry for the young king. He was still at an age where affection and feeling were of the utmost importance, and something so earthy as fertility was not something he felt comfortable discussing - not that Drinian felt any more comfortable discussing the prospect in regards to that particular girl.

"Sire, you are the king. You are not as one of your subjects; you shall not please yourself with things - "

" - as if I were a private person," Caspian finished bitterly.

There was a long silence, and then Caspian nodded. "Thank you," he said quietly, his tone softened. "I understand that you are concerned for me and for my throne, and I thank you for coming to me with your objections and concerns. I do not want sycophants giving me counsel or sitting on my councils."

The four lords bowed, and Caspian dismissed them. They departed, and Drinian took one last look at the king; he stood with his back to the door, looking out of the window towards the island. He looked tired and weighed down. Drinian started to follow the other lords out when Caspian's voice stopped him. "Drinian."

He paused at the doorway, then shut the ornate oak door. "Sire."

The voice was tired and unhappy, and Drinian felt his heart twist in sympathy. He knew that Caspian often questioned his own ability to lead Narnia, despite his success in doing so, and that it was only ever his loyalty and his trust in the Lion that sustained him through his doubt. "What is your opinion?"

Drinian shifted on his feet. "I believe they broach salient points, Sire."

"So you agree," said Caspian dully. He still had not turned around.

Drinian had never felt more wretched. The young king's one consolation for not going to Aslan's country had been the star's daughter, and his misery at losing his friends and sailing away from Aslan's country had lightened at her smile. Now his duty was threatening to tear her away, as well.

He had always wished for the young king a happy marriage, one of shared, mutual devotion. The possibilities of mercenary women trapping him into marriage, or of a union borne out of duty and devoid of all feeling, were always all too real for somebody in the king's position.

This was the first woman in whom the king had shown more than a passing interest, and by all accounts one who was not the groveling, sycophantic pleaser many women attempted to be. Reepicheep had been more than admiring of the lady in question, discussing in his rapid, firm manner how she had turned down the king's offer of a kiss, gently directing him back to his quest, and how she could not be dictated to - not even to answer His Majesty King Edmund's question. She really didn't appear to care entirely much what people said of her; her sense of quiet, dignified self-possession had impressed Drinian, and he had no doubt that it was the combination of her qualities that had won Caspian.

She would make a fine queen, Drinian suddenly realized ruefully. It was too bad that there were such massively important, urgent points to consider.

He chose his next words carefully. "They are important points to consider, Sire. They are not barriers which cannot be overcome, but they are important."

Drinian did not move from his spot, and at one point he looked towards the king. The warm wood tones of his cabin, the cheerful green on the fabric on the chair belied the somber tone.

The king's hands rested on his hips, and he stood with his weight on one leg. He breathed in, and Drinian could hear a hitch in his voice.

"I'm young," Caspian replied, his voice wavering. "And I have only known her for a short time, so it should not matter, should it."

He took a deep breath, turning to face the captain but still not looking at him. His tone was exhausted, sarcastic, and it broke Drinian's heart to see the younger man with such a cynical view at so young an age. "I am so tired of the court, Drinian. I am paraded before women like a piece of meat in a butcher's shop. To them I am no more than a prize to be won. I could be old, abusive, hideous and it would not matter any more to them, so long as they could be rich and prestigious."

He nodded, making no effort to say anything more.

Caspian gave a small, bitter laugh. He poured a glass of port and handed it to Drinian, then downed a glass himself before pouring another one. He returned to his seat with his refilled glass, waving Drinian into a nearby one just recently vacated by Argoz. The captain sat, patiently waiting for the king to speak. After a long moment of silence, the king said, "I rather like your wife, Drinian."

"I'm afraid she's already spoken for, Sire." Drinian injected his voice with humor, hoping to lighten the mood.

It worked. The king chuckled, swirling his glass around and around, then leaned forward to rest his forearms on the table. "I never asked you how you met her."

Drinian ran his fingers over the glass, tracing over the etchings on it with a small, unconscious smile as he thought of his wife. "I suppose that is not what men speak about," he began. This was rather awkward, the captain thought. Good night - Caspian was his king! It was hard to remember that, in many instances, he was still so very young and, to top it off, without his father's guidance on affairs of the heart.

"No, but I should like to know now, if you are comfortable telling it."

The captain gave the king a half-smile. "She is a southerner, you know. Her home was near the woods, near Cair Paravel's ruins, even before you made it your home."

"I remember. The terrifying woods."

"The great men, or so they said, lived further north near the Telmarine castles, of course. The lesser nobles lived south. I had a friend who was buying a property of his own, and what was available to him was in the south."

"Is it Caderin?"

"Yes." Drinian smiled into his glass. "You inadvertently raised his social standing when you moved to Cair Paravel."

Caspian chuckled. "Go on."

"We went down there, and I met this young woman. She was - well, she was witty and intelligent. She was merry, like your lady, but - quite a wit. She was introduced to me, and she began to say how much she admired my study of the sea. I believed she was attempting to flatter me, and I insulted her. She laughed at my arrogance - laughed! She cared little for my good opinion. I must admit I was terribly intrigued by her. I was the son of a Telmarine lord with the ear of the king, and some country chit dared, essentially, to show me how wrong I was."

"She still does, from what I understand."

Drinian roared with laughter. "So you have heard."

"Drinian, you and your lady are legends in the court, you know." Caspian's eyes twinkled, the corners of his mouth upturned, his cares temporarily forgotten.

"I should not think that your Majesty listens to gossip."

"I don't listen to gossip. I listen to the truth. And you forget that I have seen you and your wife together on numerous occasions, enough to make my own impression." The king chuckled. "And it was quite an impression."

The captain let his laughter die to a chuckle. "I have no doubt."

The king smiled, then grew pensive, swirling the port in his glass. They sat in silence for a while, and when the younger man finally spoke, it was so soft Drinian could barely hear it. "She is completely honest with me."

Drinian did not have to ask who 'she' was.

"She is not critical, you know; I do not feel as if I am being tutored and chastised and such. But she is not the disgustingly cloying sycophant I must deal with at home. She also sees things with a wisdom which - well." A long, thin finger tapped against the glass. "I have never shared such weighty concerns with a woman before, but with her it is easy, and she listens and we discuss it. Often we do not come to an answer, but when we discuss, she has insights, and they prompt me to some of my own. And, I suppose, what I say helps prompt her to some of hers."

Drinian sat as still as possible, thunderstruck. This was not the answer he had been expecting. He supposed that the king's attraction had been physical - she was beautiful. He had surmised that perhaps she had given him a happiness that had been missing since his parents had died. It appeared that in a few short months, the relationship had deepened far beyond that.

"We discuss everything, from books and Narnian history - she knows a good deal of it, though not as much as Doctor Cornelius - and geography, to policy. She learned from her father. She knows a great deal about Calormen and Archenland, which, if you remember, we Telmarines did not deal with extensively."

Suddenly it clicked. The Lone Islands. Calormen. The slave trade. "When you said you discussed the slave trade on the Lone Islands..." he trailed off.

"Yes, it was with her."

Drinian fell silent. This was a wrinkle he had not been anticipating. Good night, if the lady had become more than simply an attraction for the king, then -

Caspian paused, then turned red, as if about to say something. He looked at Drinian, then stopped. "Do you know about our first encounter with her?"

"Some."

"Enough to know what I offered?"

"Enough to know that His Majesty King Edmund teased you mercilessly when you returned - something about a million ways to end enchantments, including killing dragons and not just kissing girls." Drinian watched his king's face flush bright red.

"I made a ridiculous offer to her. The three lords were asleep, and she said the enchantment had to broken before they would wake. I was so enchanted, you know. I told her that in their Majesties' world, the hero would kiss the princess and the enchantment would break."

Drinian stared. "Those are really the tales?"

"Well." The king fidgeted, still clearly embarrassed by his juvenile offer. "Well, in the stories it is generally the princess who is enchanted herself, and everybody sleeps, and to break the enchantment over her she must be kissed."

"So," Drinian replied dryly, "you would have to kiss the lords to wake them."

Caspian stared at him; clearly the thought had never occurred to him. He suddenly burst into laughter. "I must have sounded so ridiculous to everyone there." He shook his head. "Drinian, I order you to say no more about it beyond these walls, lest my people consider me a brainless twit."

Drinian just laughed. "Young, Sire. Not brainless."

"Edmund developed a list of at least twenty other stories in which enchantments did not involve kisses." Caspian was still blushing. "Rather depressingly, a lot of them involve death." He stopped to think about it, then shrugged it off. "Anyhow, I chose that one."

"The most pleasant option?" Drinian asked wryly. He forgot Caspian's youth, sometimes. It was a rather terrible attempt at wooing, and as a sailor he'd seen many different methods that men use to attract women. Of course the king would suddenly, in his besottment, forget the Narnian enchantments, such as Jadis the White Witch. None of these were broken by a kiss.

"I must admit, the prospect of saving my father's friends by kissing a beautiful lady was not exactly my idea of hardship," Caspian mused. He paused, then smiled ever so softly. "She did not laugh at me. I could tell she was amused, but she - she was not laughing at me. She sent me on my way to complete my journey - to free the lords first, to send somebody on to Aslan's country."

The humor seemed to leave him, and he smiled weakly. "Come now, my Lord Drinian. You have seen enough of courtly life. How many women would have done the same?" They all knew what would have happened if Caspian had made this offer to any other woman: there would be a line waiting for him to bestow his kiss. Some might even do the kissing themselves, despite the terrible breach in social etiquette.

The king's voice turned bitter. "The king of Narnia offers his kiss, and the lady of the island turns him away to fulfill his duty. She answers to Aslan first."

In one instant Drinian saw all what the king did: a lady of wisdom, merriment, and selflessness. The man the star's daughter would want had to be a man above the others: brave and determined, whose loyalty to friends was not stopped by a pretty face. He had a mission; he must complete it if he were ever to win her favor. She would not want Caspian for his power and position, and not even for his pretty face.

Why should she? She was the daughter of a star; she lived on the edge of the world, close to Aslan's country, by the sea of lilies and light. The honored knife from Narnia's great past had been put in her and her father's care. She sang into the morning, the sky opening. What was a mere throne and earthly power to her? At least the king could be assured that she chose him because she chose _him_, not because he had power and wealth.

Drinian had to admit it: he now wanted to take the star's daughter back to Narnia, if simply to show her to all those mercenary parents and their gold-digging girls. This was a lady, and this was the way a true lady acted: full of grace and dignity. She was secure in the knowledge of her position as one so cherished by Aslan - confident not in her own abilities and in her own self, and not in any position given to her by birth or by marriage, but secure and happy and confident in the simple fact that she was a merely creature of and yet so dear to the great king, Aslan, the son of the Emperor over the Sea - a claim which, if Drinian could borrow the phrase, was enough to lower the head of the greatest king and to raise the head of the lowest beggar.

Suddenly the king snorted derisively. "Well, this certainly is a moot point. What if she simply does not want me? What if she would not want to come back to Narnia with me at all? All this discussion and moping would be for naught as it is."

"I find that difficult to believe - that she would not wish to come with you."

"You don't know her."

Drinian sighed to himself. He had not realized the extent to the influence the lady had over the king; influence, he acknowledged, she most likely did not know she had.

All in all, she sounded like an ideal partner and advisor - except that the two large problems mentioned by the lords still loomed. Those salient problems had never been resolved, and they still hung like swords of Damocles over the king's choice of bride. They fell into a silence.

"Ask," he suddenly blurted.

"What?" Caspian looked up.

Drinian shook himself mentally. Had he even spoken aloud? He drew himself up. "You - and the old Narnians, and the Queen Lucy and the King Edmund - all of you have always had the deepest faith in the Lion. So ask."

"He is not a tame Lion, Drinian. I cannot simply conjure him up - as if he would even listen to black magic - and demand his opinion."

"He is not obliged to answer you; no, he is not. But that does not preclude you from asking." Drinian was warming up. He could feel something in his spirit, fortifying. He knew he was on the right path; old Telmarine though he be, and as little as he knew of old Narnian ways, he had heard too much of the Lion and encountered too many death-defying instances on this voyage to doubt him. "You are his servant; you were crowned by him. He put you on the throne three years ago, and he brought you here. He spoke to you about the end of the world.

"He gave you the task to be, as best as you could, the king of Narnia, to serve for the time he called you to do so. Your - " Drinian paused, not wanting to mention the sore incident at the end of the world " - original decision about traveling with Reepicheep," he continued delicately, "was a direct contermand of the Lion's order, if I may say so."

"You may. You were right."

"But this is not." Drinian looked at him, for the first time both hopeful for his own country and for his king. "Who are we to decide what is the best for Narnia in terms of a queen? I am not saying that the lords' points are any less important. But you could find the 'perfect' queen who is a daughter of Eve and well-versed in the court and adored by the Narnians who might later no longer be a friend to Narnia. You may find one who fills none of these 'requirements' but becomes one of the finest queens Narnia has had, wise and merry and cherished by her people and mourned desperately at the time of her death. I've learned enough about this Lion to know that he views power and appropriateness and all those things far differently than we."

He stopped for breath, looking at the king, who was staring back intently, as if not sure what to say. "You are not seeking to gratify your own desires, but to do what is best for your people. Aslan cannot object to your asking him for help in that. Ask, simply, if your lady is the queen he intended for you." Drinian shrugged. Good night, he couldn't believe he hadn't hit upon this idea earlier. Wouldn't it have solved even his own restless nights of concern?

"There are few sureties in this world. A daughter of Eve as a wife may not be able to give you an heir. That, and we also know in Narnian history that the dryads and the children of King Frank were married and produced heirs without problem. Ask Aslan. If he says yes, then you need not fear for your people. If he says no, then trust he will provide you a better queen for Narnia. The Lion will not give you somebody you hate for a queen simply to spite you. Ask, and you will have the surety of knowing."

Drinian looked over at the king, who was looking pensive and, for the first time, even hopeful. His face had cleared. "Yes." He gave a small laugh. "Yes, of course. Who would know better for Narnia and for me." He shook his head, as if he were completely stupid. "How silly I have been."

The captain nodded. He set his port glass down, then rose to go. The king needed time to think.

Drinian's hand was at the door when the king spoke, his voice soft and thoughtful. "Thank you."

The sailor nodded and quietly shut the door behind him.

Reader, she married him. 


	4. Bern

**The Daughter of the Star**  
by Sammie

DISCLAIMER: Not mine.

RATING: F-. Is anybody even checking these ratings?

* * *

BERN - HIS GRACE, THE DUKE OF THE LONE ISLANDS

Bern was in for more surprises than he had anticipated.

He had hoped, rather than believed, that his friends had been alive; who knew what lay beyond? Yet there were four before him, coming down the gangplank from the Dawn Treader. He was bursting with both joy and curiosity; he had not seen these men in years.

In what most would consider undignified behavior, he ran from his spot on shore, down towards the dock. He embraced each one, blinking back tears, even as he mentally calculated the loss. Octesian and Restimar were missing, he noted sadly, but he was not made for low spirits, and the joy of his four friends at seeing him quickly set him back to rights.

Bern turned to greet his king, who was beaming in delight at seeing his father's friends reunited. The duke began to welcome him back, and then stopped short when he noticed the young woman on the king's arm. This was certainly not the girl he had met previously, the legendary (but apparently not mythical) Queen Lucy of Narnian yesteryear.

Bern looked back at the young king, and he knew instantly why she was there and who se was; the king wore the same expression Bern had when he had first stopped at the Lone Islands and saw the islander who became his wife. "My congratulations, Your Majesty."

* * *

The Telmarine lords stayed up far later that evening than even the king and the crew, talking into the night. Despite his wife and his daughters having long ago gone to bed, Bern felt his second wind coming on. He marveled at the adventures his friends had had and shuddered at Rhoop's misfortune. They had come so close to the end of the world; to have seen it - ! Yet, while delighted and curious, he did not regret his own decision to stay at the Lone Islands. His wife, as his four friends admitted, seemed to be even better now than when they'd first met her so many years ago.

"I'll admit to being wrong." Mavramorn held up his goblet. "To the amusing lady who bested Bern - Her Grace, the Duchess of the Lone Islands."

"Her Grace!" The other lords toasted.

"May she maintain her sensible control over Bernie," Argoz teased.

"Hear, hear!" the other three chorused in laughter as Bern just grinned at their ribbing.

"Hilarious, Argoz," he intoned in a deadpan voice.

"Not as much as you and your wife, Bern." Argoz downed his drink.

"Since we speak of wives." Bern sipped his wine, then set down his goblet. "What of the king's?"

"She's wonderful," Rhoop said immediately, using colloquial terminology and speaking more forcefully than Bern had expected, as he glared at the other three lords.

"Am I to understand that there is some disagreement over the 'wonderful-ness' of the lady?" Bern asked with amusement.

"The depth of the king's attachment to her concerns us."

"Is she an unworthy object of his affection?"

"No. She is a true, gracious lady," admitted Mavramorn. "I like her herself quite a bit, even if we have had some reservations about the marriage. But it is unseemly on the part of the king, a man, to show so much affection."

"Does she not return it?"

"No, she does. I would say her affection for him is as great as his for her."

"Is she flighty and airheaded?"

"Her? Ha." Mavramorn shook his head. "Hardly."

"Is she mercenary?"

"No."

"She is not...an imbecile?" Bern pressed.

"No."

"Then what is the problem?" Bern was genuinely puzzled.

Lord Revilian nudged Argoz next to him, laughing. "Of course Bern would not agree with us. Or Rhoop, the great warrior romantic."

The men chuckled, and Rhoop rolled his eyes at his teasing friends.

"Then good night, man, what is the problem?" Bern repeated. "She is close to His Majesty's age, she is beautiful, and she seems intelligent enough, if not a little innocent." He crossed his leg over his knee. "What are her connections?"

At this, three of the lords looked at each other, and Bern looked among them, then to Rhoop. "Connections?" Bern repeated.

"She has none," Argoz sighed. "She's the daughter of a star."

"What?"

"'Don't say "what", say "pardon"'," Revilian imitated in a high-pitched, scolding voice, and the five men burst into laughter. "'The p-sounds are good for the lips. Papa, prunes and prisms.'"

"Do you remember that ridiculous schoolmaster?" Bern laughed. "How angry he was when the seven of us were in school with His Royal Highness, and he decided to spit with every "p" pronunciation just to irritate him." The men laughed, but the memory was tinged with sadness, the reminder of the ignominous death of their childhood friend, Prince Caspian - later King Caspian IX.

"Yes, well. We were discussing Caspian the Tenth and his choice of bride."

"We told you how far we sailed." Bern nodded at Argoz. "That was her father's island. It is the beginning of the end of the world. There is no more land from there, they say - not until the end of the world."

Bern stared. "That's where he got her?"

* * *

"What is your impression of the lady?" Bern asked the next night. He sat on their bed, folding his hands over his lap, as he waited for his wife to finish her toilette. As she brushed out her long, deep red hair, Bern smiled unconsciously. It was still as flaming in color as it had been when they had first met.

"I like her."

Bern tilted his head to one side as he studied his wife's reflection in her mirror. The family had spent the next day with the crew, and his wife had happily rushed the king's new wife into the female quarters to talk about whatever it was that girls talked about when they were together. Bern was burning with curiosity now, given the king's puppy-dog look and the lords' reservations.

Even more than that - he had learned today that they had held a coronation for the king's bride right on the deck of the Dawn Treader, just a week after the marriage and just before setting sail to return home. It all seemed rather rushed to him, making the girl both wife and queen a _fait accompli_ before they even reached Narnia. It worried him.

Hence, his question to his wife.

"Her Majesty is...deceptively..." his wife did not finish, pursing her lips as she climbed into their bed.

"Deceptive!" Bern frowned at her. "She has tricked the king into marrying her?"

"No, no, no. That is not what I meant." His wife sighed. "She - she looks so very young, you know. So innocent. But she has the wisdom borne from years and years of experience. In affairs of the heart, she is a youth, as is the king, but she displays a particular wisdom."

"How do you mean?"

"Tonight." Bern nodded. "She listened very attentively to all the chatter the ladies made when we separated. She said nothing the entire time; she simply nodded, offered a light comment when required. But when asked her opinion on a certain matter, she gave such an informed, well-thought one so as to astonish us all. And, if you ask my opinion, it quite neatly silenced Lady Anselal and those ill-formed ideas she insists on presenting."

Bern laughed. He knew the pompous woman to whom his wife referred. Her husband was just as much of an unengaging, supercilious windbag.

"When is this ball you plan to give in honor of the king?" His wife flipped her red, curly tresses over her shoulder.

"Three days."

"Good. I will need that amount of time," she said decisively. "This is Her Majesty's presentation to the social world, and I intend to show everyone what a true lady is."

Bern sighed. What had attracted him to his wife so many years ago was her self-resolve, her confidence, and her loyalty. Some days, however, it was a little much. "You may wish to consult the king first," he warned, "before you make his wife over like that."

She pouted. "Fine. I will do so, but he will hardly object if he knows what is best for the both of them."

* * *

His wife appeared at the doorway, catching his eye. She smiled and nodded, surveying the room, and then took a step back to speak with the gentleman announcing each entrant at the doorway. As was proper social etiquette, the duchess soon disappeared to make way for the queen.

"Her Majesty, the Queen of Narnia, Empress of the Lone Islands, and Lady of Cair Paravel," came the announcement.

His wife had outdone herself. The queen stood in the doorway in pale, satin blue slippers. Her dress was a beautiful blue, the silky gossamer making her seem ethereal. The cut was a mix of the unusual style the queen had worn when she first came and that of the style more normal to the Lone Islands. Her golden hair had been done up simply, the length carefully tucked up in a simple chignon. Woven throughout were pearls, strung together by a thin silver chain. Unlike some of the other ladies, she wore very little if no cream and paint on her face, making her seem even more unusual. There was no crown, no tiara, nothing; simply the delicate silver line with pearls in her hair, and a matching silver thread around her neck with a larger pearl at the end.

He wasn't sure if she was shining, literally - he couldn't tell if it was the hairstyle and the lighting and the dress or if he had been prejudiced into thinking she herself would glow, since she was the daughter of a star.

Bern was satisfied to hear the surprised gasps from those who had not yet seen the newest member of the Narnian royal family and had only heard the rumors. The snide whispers of some of the local women seemed to die, no doubt a mix of the queen's presentation as well as the power behind her - the clear approval of the duchess of of the Lone Islands. He could see the Lord Drinian's grin from across the ballroom; it was crucial that the presentation go well, and it seemed that this one had. The satisfaction on his friends' faces likewise demonstrated the success of this social presentation. The queen's power, ironically, would go far for protecting her husband's throne.

The king stared as though struck dumb, as if he had never seen his wife before. He offered her his arm in silence, and then lowered his head so that his wife could whisper in his ear. Whatever it was changed his expression immediately; the stunned look changed into the familiar, firm but kind expression Bern had come to recognize. As the king straightened, laughing at whatever it was his wife had said, Bern could see the his face looking down at her, his eyes aglow.

The king obviously opened the dancing with a set with his bride, and it was clear that the queen had been through a rigorous amount of dancing lessons - but would require more still. His wife had discreetly chosen easier dances for the night, so as not to embarrass the still-green bride with a piece which she could not do. It would not do for the Queen of Narnia to look a fool on the dance floor, but that's exactly what would happen with a more difficult dance. She had much to learn yet.

After a set, the king led her off the floor to greet those who came to congratulate them. They sat out multiple dances, which was just as well, given the queen's lack of lessons.

Bern fidgeted a little, trying to attend to his very chatty guest's constant stream of talk, but he could not keep his eyes off the royal pair. That the king adored her was obvious; that she returned his affection less so. She seemed so quiet. She had not married the king for less than affection, had she?

She suddenly turned her head to look at her husband, and Bern saw all he needed to see.

Her Majesty was looking at the king, who was laughing over something a Lone Islands nobleman had said. Her face was calm, placid, but smiling, but it was her eyes that struck the elderly former Telmarine. They laughed along with the joke, but when they turned to look at the king, they shone with a particular joy that Bern was unable to quantify.

He had spent the last weeks since meeting Caspian the Tenth bemoaning the poor boy's luck: losing his father, losing his mother, living under Miraz, nearly murdered by Miraz. It seemed that this Aslan Caspian insisted was real had begun making up to the boy what family he had lost.

Bern moved to join his wife, who had appeared at the doorway with his own two daughters (women he considered more beautiful than the queen, but of course he was biased). When he reached her, he smiled. "Quite the success, my lady."

"Why thank you, my lord." She gave him a playful smile and a little curtsy, and Bern laughed. He offered her his arm and led her into the large ballroom. "I tell you," his wife continued, "that girl will be the making of His Majesty the king. And mark my words, the fashion she wears will cross Narnia and Archenland soon enough, even if she is not trying for it to do so."

"I noticed that you managed to dress your daughters after the queen's style."

She smiled cheekily. "Well. I would have helped the queen no matter what, but I wouldn't deprive my own daughters of the opportunity to be fashion-setters."

Bern laughed, and started to escort his wife to their table when he felt his wife's hand tighten on his arm. He turned to look at her, and then followed her line of sight.

They stood together at each other's side, looking at something Bern could not make out, their heads leaning close together. He could see the queen's lips moving, but Bern could not make out what she was saying. He saw the king grin, turning his face to his bride, who smiled back at him, her eyes shining.

"Mark my words." The duchess smiled. "She will be the making of him."

* * *

All in all, Bern thought, as the guests began to depart in the wee hours of the morning, the entire thing had turned out brilliantly. The monumentous task of introducing the new queen into society had gone well - better than Bern had expected. The dancing, the dinner - everything had gone smoothly. As the guests now began to dissipate, the duke looked for his king.

He was standing at the side of the ballroom, for the first time tonight looking distinctly unhappy - more like stricken and horrified and guilty. "Your Majesty?" The king did not respond. "Sire," Bern spoke again. "You look unwell."

"I've made a horrible mistake." Bern looked at his king, who was staring past him, past the open doors, to the outside porch. Bern turned to see the queen standing on the porch, her head tilted up towards the night sky. "How could I have done this? How could I have - "

Bern's voice was sharp. "Do what?"

"I just - when I married her." Bern was suddenly struck by how young his king was. He had forgotten, in some ways, that this was his old friend's son, and not his friend himself. The king's youth reasserted itself before the older man. "How could I have married her?"

Bern frowned, then looked at the woman. "Do you not care for your wife?" It was a little late now for regrets!

"What?" Caspian turned on him so fast, his face turning into something not unlike what his sailors had correctly termed his "Miraz" face. "What are you suggesting?" he asked sharply.

"Your Majesty, I am by no means questioning your judgment. You seemed upset."

Caspian relaxed, then shook his head in dismay. "I have wronged her."

"Do you not care for your queen, Sire?" Bern repeated.

"Not that! Yes! I mean, of course I feel the deepest affection for her." Caspian waved his hand impatiently. "I just - " he turned back to look out the door. "She lived on the edge of the world," he said softly. "She lived right next to Aslan's country. Her father was a star. I took her from that - I took her, like some child takes a toy he wants."

"I must - "

"I have done exactly what my uncle would have - just taken whatever struck my fancy, as though it should satisfy what I want!" He flinched. "She will be unhappy her whole life, so far from Aslan's country and all she has known and her own father - I took her from her father, Bern! - all because I wanted her with me, like a selfish child who - "

"If I may."

Caspian stopped, remembering his manners. "My apologies. Please."

"I see nothing of this unhappiness you speak of." When the young man started to protest, Bern held up a hand to stop him. "I will certainly not repeat the ridiculous rumors you have no doubt heard: that you rescued her from some poor, run-down, deserted rural island. I have heard what my friends have said, and her home sounds as beautiful as every person has described it. She may well have lived her life in perfect happiness there."

The man smiled gently at the young man. "But she chose you - because she wants to be at your side. No one who sees you and her could believe otherwise."

The king turned to look back out at her, where she stood alone, leaning against a large marble pillar, her fingers placing on the cool marble, her face tilted up towards the sky. The boy still looked doubtful.

Bern just chuckled. "If you have doubts, Sire, you should speak with the queen, not seek advice from your father's elderly friend."

At that, Caspian smiled, a small chuckle escaping, but he still seemed upset.

"Go and speak with her," Bern urged again.

"Is this advice from my father's elderly friend?" Caspian asked, his voice full of mirth, as he headed out to the porch.

"Cheeky boy," Bern muttered. He watched as the king stepped outside to join his bride. The young woman started at the unexpected presence, then relaxed when she saw him. In the face she turned to her husband with that smile, Bern laid to rest any doubts he might have had. "She will be the making of him," he murmured.


	5. Galma and Mavramorn

**The Daughter of the Star**  
by Sammie

DISCLAIMER: Not mine.

RATING: K-9. Affirmative, mistress.

* * *

HIS GRACE, THE DUKE OF GALMA

The duke of Galma hmphed. She was nothing; of course the silly boy king would be enamoured by a mere pretty face.

That this country bumpkin - "from the world's end", ha! - knew nothing of position or the expectation of position, he had no doubt. She stood among the women, disgustingly plain in her appearance. Her hair had been simply braided and done up, and she wore nothing on her head. She wore no jewelry beyond tiny sapphire droplet earrings, and and she was dressed in a single-color, deep blue gown with lace sleeves and a bodice. There wasn't even a train.

The duke rolled his eyes. Well, the stupid youth ruling Narnia had made his own bed - or rather, grave. Now let him lie in it. This connection brought him no diplomatic aid; he had much better off married Nain's daughter or the high-ranked Tarkheena, or - as it was rumored - either of the former queens of Narnia who had helped him gain his throne. They had political connections; they had court grace.

Like his own daughter had - grace and wit and beauty and connections. Like his daughter, whom that ridiculous child masquerading as a king had thrown over for this countrified blonde.

He saw Mavramorn observing quietly from a corner. Mavramorn, Galma surmised, would understand. He was a man of the court, one who had survived Miraz's rule and managed to con this younger successor into believing in him as well.

That said, Galma was never entirely comfortable around the Lord Mavramorn. He always had the uneasy feeling that the man was amused by him rather than appropriately respectful of his position, despite the fact that he was His Grace, the Duke of Galma, and Mavramorn was not.

He had first met the seven lords when they had been exiled, years ago. They had arrived in Galma, seeking a ship and sailors. These lords, the whispers were, had sided with the mysteriously deceased Caspian IX, and thus raised the ire of Miraz.

The duke, if he might say so, was very magnanimous in his dealings with them; after all, he himself had been slighted by Miraz once and knew exactly what it meant. Miraz had once told him to his face his favorite horse was a waste of space. (Kellet, the duke hmphed, was a fine racing horse and a fine breeder. He couldn't help if nobody else noticed. If Kellet didn't win races, it was because his trainer and his jockey were poor.)

At the time Miraz had made this slight about Kellet, Mavramorn had been in the background, and the duke swore he had seen a smile on the man's face. But since Mavramorn had been exiled, along with the others, the duke of Galma - always welcoming and hospitable, if he did say so himself - was willing to aid them.

He could see Mavramorn watching the king and the boy's new country bride. The serious look on Mavramorn's face indicated that he clearly had not bought completely into this ridiculous marriage.

He managed to sidle over to the nobleman, who continued to watch the royal pair on the dance floor. "Mavramorn."

The lord acknowledged his presence with a small bow. "Your Grace."

"I see the king has made his choice."

"Indeed he has."

"'Tis a shame he has not an older man to guide his choice."

"Oh?"

Galma took this lack of disagreement as agreement - a dangerous proposition, anybody else would have warned him, but Galma was not especially a BRIGHT chap. "I should not have suspected the king to fall suspect to a pretty face. He seemed so sensible."

"Oh," Mavramorn laughed, and Galma felt that distinct uneasiness that came whenever he was around Mavramorn, that perhaps the nobleman already understood his game and was laughing at him. He brushed it aside; Mavramorn was not as smart as he was and not smart enough to understand implication behind his subtle questions. "You are indeed right and quite insightful," the nobleman praised him, and Galma puffed out his chest. "The king would never fall suspect simply to a pretty face. No, indeed. He is too intelligent for that."

Hm. Not quite the response he was hoping for. Galma made his point a little more clear. "I would have thought His Majesty would understand the need to...marry a wife with...courtly manners and ease and social education."

"Oh, he does," Mavramorn continued in his same airy tone.

"And this girl has had this?" Galma was skeptical. He would hardly give notice to a country chit like that, as entirely undeserving as she was of the title of queen.

Mavramorn laughed the same, irritating laugh that Galma was beginning to hate. "Her Majesty" - oh, how that title grated on the duke's poor nerves - "has interacted with some of the loftiest personages this world has to offer," he replied. "She could, no less, living where she did. Of course, she must learn our customs, but a clever and insightful woman would easily learn such superficialities, would she not? Of course you, as intelligent a man as the king, would recognize such intelligence in a woman when you saw her."

"Oh, yes, of course I would." Galma was not quite sure what to say.

"I believe," Mavramorn said, cocking his head to the side as he watched the dancers on the floor, his voice turning very thoughtful, "that we truly important, sophisticated men of the world recognize true character and graciousness where others cannot. We, like the king, are not deceived by feathers in the hair and a mere semblance of courtly talk, but we see true greatness when it is before us. The king has often mentioned to me how he values such men as this - intelligence-wise."

Of course, Galma agreed. Of course King Caspian would value a man like him, His Grace the Duke of Galma, as an intelligent and wise man. Of course he would. He could see character and graciousness just as well as the king; they were of the same mind, after all. "Of course we do," Galma agreed.

Mavramorn nodded. "It takes a real man," he intoned darkly, "to recognize the worth of our new queen." The duke nodded vigorously. He was a real man. "Why, would you believe," Mavramorn continued conspiratorially, as if disclosing a horrifying secret, "I heard such ridiculous talk to the effect that the queen was unprepared for real society! I myself was concerned, but only for a time. As if an intelligent woman of high character could not make her own way."

"Ridiculous," Galma agreed. "Positively ridiculous." Feeling as if he were expected to say more, he added, "The king's choice shows the wisdom he displays in recognizing true greatness, even if others cannot."

"That is exactly what I believe!" Mavramorn affirmed brightly. "I am sure the king would be delighted to hear of your thoughts on the matter. I will be sure to convey them to him."

"Oh, yes. Do, do." Galma felt very satisfied his meeting with Mavramorn had gone well. Recommended to the king as an intelligent, wise man, all because he, Galma, had recognized the queen's greatness, unlike other ridiculous noblemen around him.

"Oh, dear." Mavramorn was looking elsewhere. "Excuse me, sir. I fear that something needs my attention."

"Of course."

* * *

LORD MAVRAMORN

Mavramorn left with a particular smirk on his face, trying not to laugh. Galma, well - he did feel a little guilty at manipulating the duke, but it was just too deliciously amusing. He had Galma pinned down the minute they met him so many years ago - too pompous and self-important.

Galma was not entirely wrong. Caspian was a man, a young one, and he was influenced by what he saw. Yet Caspian was not stupid enough to equate beauty with true character; he had no doubt the king had seen enough of the first coupled with mercenary or just pompous character to be cautious. Drinian had said the king might not have liked Galma's daughter as too plain, but Mavramorn was glad that Caspian hadn't chosen the girl, as sweet as the lady was. Galma as a father-in-law would have been torturous.

The old lord made his excuses and moved out to go visit the men on the ship, just so he wouldn't be completely lying about having business to attend to.

He returned a half-hour later, rather sad to be leaving the crew; Rhince and Rynelf and the men seemed to be having a far better time on the Dawn Treader than he was at this ball. As the resident sailor, Mavramorn especially enjoyed spending time with the crew. His own respect for Drinian and the king increased as he got to know the crew; the two men had chosen very wisely.

The crew had pressed him for scuttlebutt. Drinian had returned to the ship a few hours ago and then gone back to the party, and they wanted to know what had happened since. And while the sailors enjoyed his story about Galma - apparently Drinian's men hadn't told him or the king of Galma's dismissive treatment of them when they were first there - they wanted even more to know about the success of the queen. It seemed her kindness towards them had made her a favorite, and they were her staunchest supporters now. Pittencream - who, happily, had deserted already - may have had little to say to Ramandu or his daughter, but Mavramorn was beginning to suspect it was rather because Pittencream was somewhat cowardly - and because the men of the Dawn Treader, having sailed to the east, had experienced something which elevated them and which Pittencream missed.

Mavramorn had been thoughtful on his way back to the grand house, pondering of what the men had said. They were different from those that had set out: still rowdy, still fun, but braver, changed, and more stolid. Perhaps that was what happened to those who traveled so close to the country of this Aslan.

He had promised to make a better effort to observe the queen, and now, as he arrived at the doorway, he looked over the scene. The king was standing by the queen, the former conversing with the new duke of the Seven Isles and the latter with his mother, the old duke's widow and the new dowager duchess.

Mavramorn grinned. The lady was now elderly but just as spry; she had, for years, dictated the fashion and trends of the court without even trying. The woman had always amused Mavramorn in a good way, and to see her approval of Caspian's choice of wife was gratifying.

The orchestra struck up again, and the duke of the Seven Isles executed a deep bow to the queen and made the request for a dance. She smiled, though she seemed rather reluctant to leave her husband, and her husband looked positively irritated. Ah, young affection, Mavramorn thought, amused. But court manners dictated what they did, and the king had no choice but to release his bride.

He took that moment to approach the king, stopping to greet the still-fiesty dowager, whose praise of the queen seemed to mollify Caspian's disappointment at having to give her up to yet another dance not with him. They stood chatting for a few minutes, making inane talk about the weather before descending into an awkward pause. A minute later, her eyes moving subtly from captain to king and back, she excused herself. "Well, if you gentlemen will excuse me."

"Please, madam. There's no need for - "

"You two are talking politics with your eyes," the old dowager said conspiratorially, leaning in to them, her blue eyes sparkling with humor. "You may as well do so with your mouths."

Caspian bowed in acknowledgement of her departure, as did Mavramorn, but while the former was blushing in embarrassment, the latter just smiled.

"And you, Mavramorn, can stop smiling. I'll say what I wish." She glided away.

Mavramorn just laughed out right this time. Caspian looked slightly ashamed at being caught out. "She is not angry, Your Majesty."

"Yes, I am aware of that."

They turned to watch the queen on the dance floor, and she and the duke seemed engaged in uncharacteristically earnest discussion, even on the dance floor. "Sire, I wish to apologize."

Caspian seemed genuinely mystified. "Whatever for?"

"I underestimated Her Majesty's abilities." Mavramorn drew himself up. He was not too proud to admit to his mistakes. "I doubted the success of your marriage."

"Oh." The king seemed to shrug. "And now?"

"You are not upset?"

"Lord Mavramorn, you have been my father's friend and selfless advisor for a long time, and have shown your loyalty to me in such a short time. You have your concerns, and they were about my welfare."

"Yes, but - "

"And you were not completely wrong. I admit some astonishment at some of the things I had assumed my wife would have learned already and has not; she has reminded me to line up tutors for everything from dancing and music and household management to archery."

"Oh." Mavramorn was a little surprised at such frank talk from the king. "You do not regret the marriage, I hope." For the first time, he was fearing that the king would, indeed, regret marrying the star's daughter. That feeling of wanting to root for the king's marriage was a new one.

"No." Caspian smiled. "No, most certainly not."

Mavramorn was relieved. "Oh," he sighed, then paused before continuing. "I was concerned she would not be an asset to your throne. You know, Sire, that we are not as free to marry as we wish."

"I am well aware of that." He gave a highly unkingly snort. The one thing Caspian had truly despised was the trappings of the courtship of a king.

"I worried she could not fulfill the duties of a queen." Mavramorn still had no proof the queen produce an heir, but suddenly this no longer seemed to matter as much. "I see now how very wrong I was. She will change the court, Sire, for the better - just as Her Grace has." Mavramorn nodded to the dowager duchess, who was holding her own court among the older noblewomen. "The queen will be an asset to you."

"When Aslan chooses," Caspian said thoughtfully, "He chooses and He chooses wisely."

"He does." Mavramorn admitted he did not feel as comfortable as the king mentioning the great Lion. He did not know as much as Caspian or the queen or Reepicheep, but he was learning.

The two men stood in companionable silence for a long time, and then His Majesty suddenly said, his voice tinged with mirth, "I understood you had a pleasant conversation with Galma."

Mavramorn groaned. 


	6. Dr Cornelius

**The Daughter of the Star**  
by Sammie

DISCLAIMER: Not mine.

RATING: K+

* * *

DOCTOR CORNELIUS

The day the king returned, the entire court was out to meet the Dawn Treader to welcome him back. More accurately, the entire court was out to meet the Dawn Treader to get a good look at the new queen.

Rumors fly, of course, and always seem to travel and multiply faster than their subjects. There were enough to fill several sheets of parchment.

Trumpkin grumbled about it constantly, but the tutor knew well that the loyal dwarf didn't mean it that way. Having saved the king from one undesirable marriage, the lord regent was well aware of the king's need to marry and seemed rather excited about the prospect - only in unguarded moments, of course. In front of the court - who began to make up excuses to hang around the castle - Trumpkin growled and glared them into relative silence. Those who seemed a little too excited calmed down; those who were too calculating and already jealous were silenced.

Even those below stairs were whispering; everybody wanted to know who would get elevated to serve the queen. Most of the maids, who sighed dreamily about the handsome king, had long been aware that he would never offer for them, and so they were just as excited and eager to see and to serve the new queen as they had the king.

The return of the seven lords paled in comparison to the arrival of the new queen. Ah, the old tutor chuckled to himself. At least these men, because of their loyalty to the king, would hardly be jealous of the boy's wife.

The king had presented the lords and his new queen to a small, select group of advisors first, Dr. Cornelius and Trumpkin among them. Dr. Cornelius hoped to get to know her better, but at first meeting she seemed to be all he would have desired for his pupil. She didn't appear to have the same sparkling wit that made Drinian's wife so popular. The queen listened carefully and said little, but Dr. Cornelius rather suspected that very little got by her without her noticing.

Such as, for example, the awkward greetings between the king's former tutor and the king's father's friends.

Cornelius had meant it when he said that king's mother had been the only Telmarine kind to him; he would not have hurt the young king with falsehoods. The Telmarine lords had been dismissive and indifferent at best; Miraz had been positively atrocious. The lords who now stood before him, Cornelius honored for their loyalty to the current King Caspian. There their similarities ended. The lords had played their part in the subduing of Narnia.

Yet while Cornelius disapproved of their actions, he did not condemn the lords themselves. Every person made mistakes; even the famed Tumnus and King Edmund the Just had made terrible errors of judgment and suffered for them.

Still, the meetings were uncomfortable, especially since Cornelius had been personally acquainted, though not well, with Revilian (and also with the late Octesian and Revilian). That night, before dinner, there were attempts at awkward small talk, and Cornelius could almost forsee an even more uncomfortable dining experience. It seemed, however, that the queen and her newest ally and friend, the Lady Drinian, had conspired to keep the evening flowing. They focused talk on the king - on his youth, stories which Cornelius himself could provide and in which the lords were intensely interested - and on the voyage, which covered areas of learning in which both the lords and Cornelius would have been keenly interested.

Lady Drinian even managed to steer safely the story of Miraz, his end, and the defeat of the Telmarine army - and did so with grace, wit, and charm. It was an unusually clever woman who could make both Telmarine and Narnian lay aside animosity in order to smile and chuckle at Sopespian's attempt to charge a huge river god, and to make both feel appropriately sad at the loss of life on both side.

The king's tutor stole glances at the queen during this conversation and was quite satisfied with what he saw. The young lady watched carefully and listened intently as the sea captain's wife carefully navigated the dangerous waters of Telmarine-Narnian relations; no doubt in future conversations the task would fall upon her, and she was taking the opportunity to learn. Even more than that, however, Cornelius was impressed by the queen's ability to read people. Of all the ladies included in this intimate dinner, she herself had brought Lady Drinian - a choice of wisdom and insight. The queen had a good read on people.

Yes, she would do very well for the king.

* * *

A year into their marriage, the king ordered the queen's desk moved into his study.

To be honest, it wasn't that large of a change. The study had two doors: one led out to another room before leading to the hall, where advisors generally spent some time preparing before meeting the king, and the other led to another sitting room, where the queen met with guests. The king continued to meet with advisors in his own study - only now, often with his wife sitting discreetly at her desk, working and clearly listening.

Still, Dr. Cornelius knew it was unsettling for the former Telmarine - new Narnian - advisors, so used to the male-dominated courts.

The old lord paced the tutor's study. They may have started off on the wrong foot years ago - Revilian actively opposed Cornelius' appointment to the court as tutor - but the two men had laid aside their differences for the king. Each recognized and admired in the other the loyalty and faithfulness to the young man, and their affection for the young man had brought them together. Revilian had now made it his habit to ask Cornelius about Narnian history - such as he was doing now - knowing that the tutor would keep secret his questions, so long as they were not treasonous.

"Is it - " Revilian stopped. "Is it customary to ask women for their opinions so much, as the king does?"

"Oh, it's customary for old Narnians to do so." Cornelius nodded. "It began even with our first king - King Frank, and his queen Helen. The Narnian queens sat with their husbands on the council, delivered judgments in their absences. These are the consorts, of course. The regnants ruled in their own right."

"Regnants?" Revilian looked shocked. "QUEEN regnants?"

"When a king had only a daughter, she inherited the Narnian throne. Like Swanwhite." Revilian stared incredulously, and Cornelius just smiled. "It is not a Telmarine custom."

"No. Most certainly not."

"The queens Lucy and Susan, of the Golden Age, were regnants, rulers in their own right. Both, of course, were under their older brother the high king, but then so was their younger brother Edmund also under the High King Peter. But should any of them have passed on to Aslan's country at any time, regardless of who was left - king or queen - they had the complete right to rule."

"As a regnant." Revilian looked astonished.

"Yes, my lord."

"Well, then, I assume Narnian tradition allows for queen regents as well."

"Very much so, sir, yes, as does the tradition of Archenland. It was the Queen Regent Aravis, who, the year after her husband's death, successfully led a defense of the castle Anvard. Her son Ram - to be Ram the Great - had not yet reached the age of majority."

"We Tel - in old Telmarine tradition, queens did not even serve as regents, much less as regnants," Revilian mused. Cornelius knew this. The Telmarines had never been very approving of their women in high roles: their sole task was to women birth and educate their children. "The king would have been much better off had his mother served as his regent, rather than Miraz, but we did not have that tradition to allow a queen to serve as a regent, even for her own child."

He paused, then snorted. "Although, had the king's mother been his regent, I have little doubt Miraz would have had her murdered as well."

"I agree."

"The current queen will be named regent for any children she bears to the king."

"Yes, I believe so."

The two sat in companionable silence, and then Revilian asked, "So those fauns and centaurs and such - they all give their women such a degree of freedom?"

"Traditionally, yes. Each family, of course, differs."

Revilian fell silent again, then nodded. "Doctor, I would not wish for you to think that I want the queen suppressed, but - her presence in the court, and her power - it will not harm the king's image, will it? I do not want him to appear weak - either before his court or internationally. We all know how manipulators attempt to take control of what they see as weakness."

Cornelius smiled. He had been right - these lords which Miraz had sent away would have, and now did, take the part of the king in a most faithful manner. "I do not forsee a problem, my lord, but then it is up to we advisors of the king to watch for him."

Revilian stopped short, looking at the old tutor for a long time, before smiling. "So it does."

* * *

Three years after the desk incident, the king went one step further - and showed up at the advisory council with his queen on his arm. He led his new bride to her throne, where she sat. He sat and called the meeting to order.

Doctor Cornelius did not move from his appointed spot near the king, but his eyes carefully moved about the room, taking in the dissenters and the surprised and the approving.

The tutor puffed out a little like a proud father. Caspian was learning and changing for the better.

Throughout the briefing, Cornelius kept a close eye on his former pupil and his pupil's wife. They listened intently to every argument made for and against a renewed campaign on the northern border against the giants.

The meeting adjourned, and Revilian approached with a smile. He lowered his head, still smiling, and Cornelius realized that Revilian wanted to appear as though he was making simple chatter, rather than commenting on the momentous decision the king had made in including his wife in council meetings. "Some men are not happy the queen was here."

Cornelius smiled in response - more to maintain the facade that Revilian had put up of cheerful conversation than because he approved of these men's disapproval. "I suspected it would be such."

"How shall we help him?" Revilian's cheerful expression was entirely incongruous for his concern.

"Let me speak to the king, and then perhaps we can discuss it," Cornelius whispered.

A sour-looking lord had gotten up and would pass by them as he headed out. Revilian raised his voice to normal level and reached out a hand to shake Cornelius'. "I hope, then, you will join me for dinner, doctor."

Cornelius was not the only one surprised. He blinked in astonishment, vaguely aware that both the sour-looking, former Telmarine lord passing them by and one of the bears were both now watching. He had reached a comfortable, if not slightly distant rappaport with the five lords who had returned. They interacted easily at dinners to which they had been invited and they sometimes took meals together when council meetings ran late - but nobody had never invited the other to a private meal. Well, not until now, with Revilian's astonishing invitation.

Revilian gripped his hand, squeezing it to get a response, the corner of his eye twitching. Cornelius blinked. "Oh, yes, of course," he replied in his normal tone of voice.

"Is six all right?" Revilian asked, and this time Cornelius could see a genuine smile on the man's face.

The tutor responded in kind, still astonished but with genuine delight. "That would be wonderful."

"I will see you then." Revilian nodded, a genuine grin on his face, and left.

Cornelius went to gather his things. Wonders never cease.

* * *

Cornelius found the king pacing in his study. The king waved for him to sit down, pouring him some wine, and then explained his idea. He wished, if possible, to avoid another bloody encounter on the border, but he refused to capitulate to the demands made.

"There is an ancient treaty, from the days of Queen Swanwhite, regarding the border skirmishes along the north, is there not?"

Cornelius stared at his pupil. "I would suppose so. The queen dealt heavily with the giants." He went quickly to the walls of books around the king's study, then pulled down a copy of Narnia's treaties which he had copied himself as a gift to the king for his coronation. He flipped frantically through the large tome. "Right here. It was signed by Her Majesty the Queen Swanwhite, and by the His Serene Highness, the duke of Har-Fang-Soberg, leader of the giants."

"Soberg." Caspian blinked in confusion. "I know of no Soberg. There is a Harfang now."

"Yes. There must have been some realignment of territory. Also, the giants have a king and queen now, rather than a duke as a leader."

"Consolidation?"

"Consolidation." The king paced. "During the period of the White Witch the treaty was forgotten, but it does not ever appear to have been mutually dissolved."

"No, but it was not enforced."

"So why can we not appeal to the stipulations in this treaty?" Caspian said, his eyes twinkling. "By his own signature - and by his own request, as you see in this line here - 'by the request of His Serene Highness, duke of Har-Fang-Soberg, and by the approval of Her Majesty, the Queen of Narnia', et cetera, et cetera. They are doing exactly the opposite of what their leader requested in the treaty."

The idea his pupil suggests was ingenius - and quite frankly, it had enough international precedence to work. Cornelius was incredibly proud, and it must have shown on his face.

At his look, this pupil shook his head. "It was not entirely my idea." He waved vaguely. "She noticed something Dumnus had said in the council. That is why we asked for your notes." Caspian sank into his chair. "If we can make this a formal stipulation in our policy, I believe the giants on that end will have no argument to make against us."

"I believe you are right, Sire." Cornelius paused. "You said Her Majesty the queen noticed this?"

Caspian smiled, his grin wide. "Yes," he said in a voice that was full of pride and awe and admiration. "Is she not wonderful?"

Cornelius chuckled. He had no doubt Caspian had still the newlywed idyllism, but the queen's insight into the matter did turn out to be invaluable. "She handled several smaller cases in your absence three months ago and did so with great wisdom."

"I often wonder if it is because she lived so close to Him." Caspian looked at him for an answer. "Is it?"

"Her wisdom developed because she grew up so close to Aslan's country? It may very well be. One cannot be trained better than to be close to the Lion himself."

Caspian smiled. "I wanted an intelligent wife, not a simpering one."

"You got one."

He beamed, then fell quiet. "She does not want me to mention her name."

"About what?"

"About this decision." He looked upset. "She wants me to take complete credit for it."

Cornelius' mind turned quickly. The matter was the solidification of Caspian's throne, not just before Calormen and others but before his own former Telmarines. They were already upset at the presence of his wife in the meeting; an early acknowledgement of her contribution would not only earn him a poor reputation as a weak man controlled by a woman but earn her trouble. Oh, the blasted Telmarine views!

"You are right to want to give credit as it is due," Cornelius acknowledged. "But listen to her, your Majesty."

"But why should I?" The king looked mulish.

"The matter of credit is not essential. Her Majesty no doubt has both you and her and the new Narnians in mind, Sire. The Lord Revilian was clear to me the opposition the new Narnias have to your bringing the queen with you to the council. Should she appear to be dictating your moves - "

"But she isn't! it was an insight!"

" - that puts both you and her in danger: you, because you are perceived as weak, even if it is not true, and her, because she is perceived as meddling. She will be watched more closely as it is, her actions more circumscribed than before; should she be perceived as influencing you too early, her ability to influence anybody else will be strong curtailed."

"This is ridiculous. She is my wife. We've been discussing matters since we married and embarked on the Treader."

"So that is the way things should be. That is not the way things are in society. Her Majesty has the patience to allow your subjects to adjust slowly to her presence and her influence. Do not circumvent the kind and wise intentions of your own wife, Sire, in your desire to see her get credit where she is due."

"You're saying I should actually do as she suggests."

"You seem to want her opinion on the giants but not on the matter of credit?" Cornelius pointed out the irony.

Caspian looked embarrassed. "I did not mean - "

"I understand that, Sire. I also understand your unwillingness to allow her to be unacknowledged. Yet the queen does this for the sake of your throne and for the sake of Narnian internal peace. Eventually, by your example, Narnia will change; your son's wife will be welcomed with more open arms than the queen is now. That, however, takes time."

The king got his Miraz look.

"Sire, your queen is moving the pieces of her board. She is setting up her own success - and thus, yours - in the court. She will checkmate and she will win, but only if you work together with her rather than at cross-purposes."

The former pupil looked at his tutor for a long time, his lips quirking at the corners. "Are you implying, Dr. Cornelius, that I am the weak piece in the game?"

He laughed. "No, most certainly not." He paused, then said seriously, "Unlike the game, you have a requirement to protect the queen - as her husband and as her king."

"I have no doubt of that."

"She is immersed in her own battlefield, Sire. The female court may be devoid of official authority, but the women wield power in far more clever ways than you may believe. Her ability to aid Narnia depends on you and your actions; your strength will accentuate hers. You have already demonstrated her abilities by taking her to the council; nobody will question her power and influence.

"Now you must give the impression of your own authority. She is a queen consort; her authority in the court derives from the man to whom she is a consort. If you lose your power internationally, her status is diminished as well, whether or not she is strong herself. Listen to her. She has been your eyes and your ears; she has a finger on the pulse of the court and knows what is acceptable right now, and acknowledgment of her political contributions right now is not."

The king ran a hand through his hair.

"There will come a time in which her contributions will be accepted more and more. Until then, do not force the issue. This ship of state takes a slow, steady hand to turn it around; do not force it when it is not needed."

The king paused, then nodded. "All right."

Cornelius smiled gently and squeezed his pupil's shoulder. "You know and Aslan knows. I think that is enough acknowledgment to satisfy her."

* * *

Ultimately, however, Cornelius thought, he had been wrong.

He had always assumed it would be a wise and cautious adjustment which would allow Narnia to acknowledge the queen's place in the nation's political life. And while the king and the queen did tread that line carefully, the one between being progressive and being irritating, it was, ultimately, their mutual devotion which won over the Narnians, both new and old.

While there were jokes about it - some more light and some more ribald - nobody could doubt the king's depth of feeling for his bride. He would die for her, if necessary - that had been evident from the start. Many came to cherish the queen simply because their king did. Some even grumbled that it was unseemly, the king's open affection for his wife.

For those who were still unsure about the queen, however, it was her evident devotion to him which won their loyalty. In the public life, the king served Aslan and Narnia, sometimes to the detriment of his own health; and while nobody questioned her loyalty to the great Lion and to the country, she watched out for the king also. It was good to know, not just one Narnian had commented, that he had somebody who cared for him as a person.

It was not that they were demonstrative; the king and the queen maintained a gentle, sweet decorum in public. The old tutor had never seen the king kiss his bride - not beyond a kiss to the hand. The Dawn Treader crew and the castle's most intimate house servants were the only ones who most likely had seen more: the former at the wedding, and the latter because they are part of the royal couple's private lives. Occasionally the king looked a little too happy, or the queen's hair was a little mussed and she was blushing, and everybody would smile politely and pretend not to know what had been happening. But still, it was always private, just between the royal couple.

Yet it was, perhaps, what they did in the social restraints that spoke of their mutual affection and passion.

Her hand was always carefully tucked in the crook of his elbow, and he never seemed to let go. Generally his other hand covered hers, and he always looked a little piqued at having to let her hand go in order to shake somebody else's. When they each entered a room, their eyes always went to each other first. Even over a long dining table, they seemed to know what was happening with each other. They seemed to gravitate towards one another, even when they were actively apart in a room, each separately greeting their guests.

Right now they sat in the council meeting, listening to Voluns the faun give an account of the economic state of the nation, leaning forward and listening intently. The king had his arm on the armrest of the throne, a finger crooked over his lip in thought; she sat with her hands in her lap, her brow furrowed. Yet, ever so slightly, they leaned towards one another, unconsciously - as if they were holding a quiet, private conversation. He might turn his head ever so slightly at any moment and murmur to her; she was close enough that any whispered comments he could hear without trying. It was as if they were one mind - a unity in purpose.

Cornelius beamed. He really, really could not ask for more. 


	7. Glenstorm

**The Daughter of the Star**  
by Sammie

DISCLAIMER: Not mine.

RATING: K+

Thank you to Eavis for pointing out an earlier mistake!

* * *

GLENSTORM

The centaur watched as the young woman carefully stepped, the foil in her hand, pointed down. "Up," came the barked order from her instructor. She raised her cork-tipped foil again, circling lightly around the floor; her opponent watched her every move like a hawk, his foil poised.

His hand shot forward towards her left, and she slid to the right, but she didn't swing back fast enough, and her opponent's foil came around the other side, whacking her firmly and tightly on the right.

She pulled back, nodding, brushing away a lock of hair which had fallen over her visor.

"A break, Your Majesty?" Glenstorm offered from the sideline.

She shook her head. "Again."

The second round went longer, but before they were done, there was a knock. The distraction caught her off guard for only a split second, but it was enough for her opponent to get a near hit in. It had seemed that she had only avoided the blow by bending backwards, the blade whooshing over top of her from her left to her right. She recovered quickly enough to avoid a blow from the other direction.

Glenstorm nodded approvingly; likewise, the queen's opponent nodded as he lowered his foil - "Excellent."

Dumnus the faun stood in the doorway with a sheepish look on his face. "I apologize," he said. "Your Majesty, you asked to be notified with the council had come to a decision regarding flooded farms near the Lantern Waste."

The two opponents nodded to each other, raising the foils and whooshing them down in a valedictory salute. Her opponent gathered her foil from the queen, then pulled up his visor and planted a delighted kiss on her hand. "I will see you at dinner?" the king smiled.

The centaur and the faun both looked down at the floor, giving the young couple their privacy. "Yes," she smiled, and there was a murmured exchange neither of the others could overhear.

"Glenstorm, if you please." Caspian nodded.

"Yes, Sire."

The king and the faun departed, and the queen tugged on the tunic and the doeskin pants she wore. "I am sorry for keeping you from the council meeting."

"I should hope not, your Majesty; I attend the economic advisory councils out of duty, not pleasure." The centaur held out her broad sword and then her bow and arrow. "Which would you like to do first, ma'am?"

"The archery. Caspian told me to wait until I had proper chain mail before returning to my sword-fighting lessons."

"Yes, ma'am." Glenstorm set the sword back into its place and grabbed his own bow and quiver. The centaur and the queen departed down a long hall, out of the fencing room and down the hall of the cloisters towards the outside yard.

"I learned just recently that the dwarves fashioned my mail," the queen was saying.

"I believe the Lord Trumpkin had the mail commissioned," Glenstorm replied. "It was their great honor."

"Perhaps, but I think I rather dishonor their work with my poor swordsmanship," she smiled. "Ah, well. I fear I will never be a proper swordsman."

"I doubt His Majesty wishes you to be in battle."

"Of course he doesn't. But you and I both know he only agreed to the swordmanship lessons because my archery is atrocious."

Glenstorm tried not to smile, maintaining his usual serious face. "It is improving, ma'am."

"You are only right, sir, if you mean I am finally able to hit the target itself rather than the poor souls on the other side who have to retrieve my arrows." The queen's eyes danced merrily. "Ah. Here we are."

Glenstorm bowed, indicating for the queen to go first. She stepped out into the shaded glen, which had been set up with targets for practice.

Two pages bowed to the queen and to the centaur, and Glenstorm smiled as the queen took the time to chat quietly with each one. She not only remembered their names but what squires they were with and what was happening with their families, and the centaur could see the adoring, slightly awestruck look in each boy's eyes.

"Come." The centaur raised his bow and arrow, and the pages scattered off, wisely finding spots for themselves that were far out of range from the queen's wayward arrows.

The queen quickly settled herself, strapping her quiver to her back and pulling up the crossbow.

"You must stand with your feet farther apart, ma'am, to maintain your stance."

The queen adjusted herself, then shot. Then winced.

Glenstorm maintained his usual composure. Well, at least she's actually hit the target this time, even if it was the outermost ring.

The queen was not a warrior, like Lucy the Valiant. She wasn't even a decent archer, like Susan the Gentle. She was capable of her own defense; the king was adamant about that. When the couple discovered her archery was poor, the panicked king took it upon himself to teach her to use a rapier and a broad sword as well, while seeking tutors for both. She did not, however, go into battle.

Still, she came to the battlefield. Trumpkin had accompanied her on more than one occasion. She nursed the wounded, as did the women she brought with her to the fronts. She visited with each soldier; she and the king wrote letters to the families of the slain.

She outlined battles.

It was one thing to have a warrior as a queen; it is another to have a strategist. The danger in the queen, Glenstorm had found, was in her ability to think steps and steps ahead. She could hold in her mind each potential military maneuver and, with it, five forward motions for each option. The king had discovered, quite early, that she took to chess like a duck to water; she might not have had the quickest reflexes, but she considered the most angles. Her observational skills, which served her so well in court, were just as helpful on the field: while she was not creative in planning, she noticed potential weaknesses in already-designed war plans, allowing the king to plug holes before the battles actually commenced.

She appeared to be afraid of imposing on anybody, but the fact of the matter was that the king's closest advisors secretly jostled to be the one who got to be excused in order to teach the queen: she was a diligent and eager pupil, and excellent, intelligent company. Glenstorm especially enjoyed spending time with the queen in the same way he enjoyed speaking with sailors, who navigated by the stars. The stargazer and the star's daughter often spent time discussing what was happening in the heavens.

* * *

The centaur paused at the door to the king's study. The doorman nodded to him and let him into the ante-room, and he plodded across the floor, the thick carpeting making his hooves nearly completely silent. He moved towards the study door, then paused.

He started to knock, but then he heard voices through the door, ajar. He stopped. Through the open doorway he could see the king and the queen. Clearly they were not yet expecting anybody.

The intimate pose belied their conversation: they were discussing politics. And dinner. Both were intently looking at a long piece of paper, the queen pointing at a certain spot on it. Yet she sat on his left knee, in his lap, and the king had his left arm around his wife while the fingers of his right hand drummed impatiently on the table, on the paper. Both of them were intensely focused on the task at hand.

"Cannot I put one on the left and the other on the right?" the king was saying.

"You will insult the ambassador if he does not sit at your side," came the queen's reply. "The dinner is in his honor."

"By you, then."

"Possibly." There was a pause, then the queen, again: "Might we move Nain? I believe Nain will understand if you ask him."

"He will, but we cannot be perceived as separting ourselves from Nain," the king pointed out. "Oh, this is quite irritating. How can dinner seating arrangements be so troublesome?"

"The dinner seating arrangements are a form of politics, you know."

"I know. But it does not make it any less irritating." The king sighed. "This just reminds me of my uncle's meals. Formal. Sterile. Lords, jockeying for position. Just miserable."

The queen brushed a lock of his hair from his face, smiling gently. "I am sorry for you."

"Do you know the first good meal I had in Narnia? Oh, I don't mean that I wasn't fed well, even under Uncle Miraz's rule. I mean, a meal where...warm, cozy."

"If you say any meal but the ones you had at my father's island, you will sleep in your dressing room tonight." Her voice was filled with teasing and laughter.

The king did laugh, then teased back, "But that would not be in Narnia."

"Ah. Well, I concede this round." The queen laughed softly, then waited patiently.

"Dr. Cornelius had put me on my horse. Told me to flee for my life." Glenstorm noted that, even in the detached tone, there was tension - and sadness - in the king's voice. "My uncle had just had a son."

"Yes. You mentioned that, after your coronation, your aunt and your infant cousin left through the portal."

"They did not trust me not to kill them, new Narnia aside." Caspian shifted in his seat. "But on that night - I fled into the woods, and as I was fleeing, I stupidly looked back and hit my head on an overhanging branch. It was so hard I fell from the saddle."

"Is that this scar?" she asked, gently running her fingers across a thin line over his forehead.

"Yes. Now you know the ignominous story behind it."

She laughed. "You may tell your children that story yourself. But continue."

"My horse dragged me for what seemed an interminable period of time; my foot was caught in the stirrup." Trumpkin could imagine the queen's ashen face, because the king's next words were gentle and reassuring. "I was fine, as you can now tell. No real damage done."

"And?"

"Trumpkin and his friends found me. Trufflehunter and another dwarf - a Black Dwarf."

Glenstorm frowned and thanked Aslan that Trumpkin was not here. The loyal dwarf still bore the burden of his friend's death, at his own hand, in what was a genuinely losing proposition - either to kill his friend in defense of the queen Lucy or to lose his old friend, and Trumpkin had chosen the former. Glenstorm knew that, one some days, Trumpkin still wondered silently if there would have been any other way about it.

"The other dwarf - Nikabrik - ultimately turned bad, but - " the king took a deep breath. "He was so downtrodden, angered by the years and years of oppression. I wish that he had lived to see Narnia today; he might have recovered from his bitterness. He was so angry."

"Perhaps he would have recovered. Perhaps he would not," the queen said quietly. "The oppressed, surprisingly, sometimes become oppressors in their turn."

The king cocked his head back, looking at his wife with a mix of astonishment and puzzlement, and the centaur understood the feeling. She looked so young, so innocent; they said she was from close to Aslan's country, and she was only learning court politics. How did she even surmise such harsh and really unpleasant things?

She clasped her hands. "Aslan understands what is in the heart of his creatures; he understands the affairs of man. What astonishes me is that so many are shocked that our hearts are dark."

She straightened, not moving from her seat but looking at her husband with a grave, serious face. "Aslan's greatness comes not from ignorance of darkness, but from overcoming it. The success of your service to Narnia will come not from your ignorance of evil, but from your protection of her from it and your refusal to stoop to dark methods."

"Yes," the king murmured, more thoughtfully than before.

"But you were discussing Trumpkin and Trufflehunter."

"I suppose I became unconscious. When I awoke I was in this little den, lying on a little bed with my legs hanging off the side. How they dragged me there, I have no idea. My head was bandaged, and I could hear them talking. The Black Dwarf wanted to kill me."

"Hm. I do not believe you know the correct definitions of 'warm' and 'cozy'." Glenstorm could hear the laughter in her voice.

"Tease! Do you want to hear this story?"

"Yes."

"Trufflehunter insisted there would be no killing, especially since he had just bandaged my head. And they fed me. Soup and bacon and eggs and greens and all assortment of food. Do you remember that account of Cor of Archenland, when he first arrived in Narnia in the Narnian Golden Age?"

"Oh, yes. He had just warned Archenland of the invasion, then crossed into Narnia."

"Every time I read that breakfast story, I laugh. It was not dissimilar. So much food, and around a small table, on small plates, and lots of chatter. It was my first encounter with actual Narnians, of course. In the cheerfulness of the meal, all talk of killing me was laid aside - temporarily. Trufflehunter and Trumpkin kept my plate filled." The king was quiet a moment, and his voice full of delight afterwards. "My first Narnian meal."

Glenstorm's hand stilled over the document. He had, of course, known intellectually about the king's loneliness, but for the first time he felt it. His parents dead, his father's friends exiled, the lack of boys his age, the removal of his nurse, the attempt on his life by the only family he had left - his uncle. He had had nobody, really. Strangers who willingly fed him had become a treasured memory.

"Mm." The king's voice was low, pleased, but teasing. "Do I get this sort of kiss from you every time I tell you a childhood story?"

She did not take the bait. Her voice was soft, gentle, pained; the centaur could hear the tears in the queen's voice, which quivered ever so slightly. "Was life with your uncle so bad?"

The dwarf paused in his writing, listening. He could hear the king inhale, a big, deep breath, as though he were thinking. "I suppose I never thought of it then," the king's voice floated in, thoughtful, reflective. "I suppose I never realized how...unhappy it was until I'd had better."

There is a period of silence, ending with only the very soft sound of a kiss ending. There was more silence, and then Caspian's teasing voice. "I have a better idea for what we can do than planning the seating arrangements."

She was breathless, laughing. "No."

"Why not?" his voice was muffled, and then the sound of a noisy, playful kiss.

"Caspian! You were the one who wanted to negotiate this peace," she laughed. "If it irritated you so much, you shouldn't have offered and let Nain host this."

"You're blaming me now?" he teased.

"Well, I was hardly keen on hosting this event."

"It had to be done."

"I see that now. I made a mistake. But the fact remains that this was your idea."

"Yes, unfortunately." Caspian waved at the long arrangement. "We could throw the nameplates onto the sheet of paper and seat them how they fall," he said hopefully.

"You know that is not proper!"

"It would be revolutionary. Not unlike when we take meals in our rooms - plain meals, and no social expectations."

"Unlike being a king."

"One of the attractions of those months on the Dawn Treader was the lack of ceremony at meals - or the great diminuation thereof."

"Yes, those were wonderful."

"Or," the king's tone was still mirthful and teasing, "We could skip this dinner entirely, and then we wouldn't need to worry about all this."

"You must feed your guests, Your Majesty," she teased.

"I did not say I would not. We'll make...oh...Glenstorm host the dinner. Nobody questions a centaur. And you and I could be absent...just the two of us. And - " The king's voice was low, and what he said next couldn't be made out, though Glenstorm didn't need much imagination to figure out what the man was suggesting to his wife.

"For shame!" his wife teased. "If you forget, you are sending Glenstorm to the north. And Aslan forbid that the king of Narnia shirk his duties."

"The king is attending to his duties," the king protested playfully. "As a husband, he has duties to his wife."

"A very nice attempt, but you must attend the dinner. Now." The paper rustled. "King Nain's position."

"We cannot put Nain so far away from us. Why would you need Nain in that seat, near the middle?"

The queen sighed. "I was hoping for an ally towards the middle of the table."

"Is it so bad?"

"Ethram should be seated far from the Taarkaan unless you want them plotting to sabotage the peace conference."

"Put Drinian there," the king decided.

Glenstorm bowed his head, hiding a smile. The lord Drinian did not suffer fools lightly, and he HATED Ethram and did a terribly funny imitation of the man. Yes, the Lord Drinian would be decidedly upset by the entire thing.

He could hear the queen's laughter. "You test the bounds of friendship, Caspian."

"Yes, I rather suspect I may have to promise him a dukedom and half my kingdom," the other agreed merrily.

"Is there anybody else? Could you speak to Trumpkin?"

Glenstorm unconsciously shook his head, as if that would stop the royal couple from assigning him that seat. Trumpkin, bless his heart, was the most loyal of subjects, but he was not exactly the most tactful man the king had available.

"Trumpkin wields his sword a little too well for my tastes," the king drawled in a deadpan tone. "You might find yourself an early widow if I assign him a seat between Ethram and the Taarkaan."

Both laughed. "I doubt that he would do such a thing to you."

"No, he would not. Nor would Drinian. But, as you say, that would test the bounds of my friendships rather severely." There was a long silence. "Unfortunately, the skirmishes and unrest along the northern border means that most of the men of the court I trust most will be up there, not down here." He paused. "What are you thinking?"

"If you are willing, let me enlist help."

"What do you mean?"

"The Lady Drinian, the princess Peravis of Archenland, Her Grace the dowager duchess of the Seven Isles. We can easily invite Her Royal Highness to accompany her father, especially since her brother the prince is overseeing the campaign on the southern border. It will appear to be a social call; as it stands, we ought not leave her highness at Anvard alone with her brother at war and her widower father here. Also, the dowager can accompany her son."

"And?"

"They are your assured allies, and they are intelligent women. Her Grace is too old for men to be anything but amused at her comments, and the princess Peravis has too much of an innocent face for men to take her seriously. Lady Drinian's wit reveals perhaps too much of her intelligence, but her charm is such that she can control a conversation without the conversors' notice. Nobody will suspect them."

There was a long silence, and Glenstorm shifted on his feet. He had always known the three women the queen had named to be intelligent, but he had never considered them to be the king's ears - or, rather, the queen's. He could see how they could participate, but -

"You will let them know our secrets?"

"Most certainly not. But their mere presence among men will end the political talk; neither Ethram nor the Taarkaan can politely speak of politics in their presence. And if they attempt to do so, all three are intelligent enough to know and to intervene."

"Intervene." The king sounded incredulous.

There was a light laugh. "The princess royal of Calormen once said to me that the man may be the head, but the woman is the neck, and turns him however she wishes."

"And is that what you're doing with me?" The king sounded amused.

She laughed. "Why should I resort to subtlety when you ask me my opinion outright?"

Glenstorm carefully looked away as the king pulled his wife to him, kissing her. He felt distinctly uncomfortable, as if he were a terrible intruder on what was clearly a private, private moment.

A few minutes later, the centaur heard the king murmur, very seriously, "I am glad you came with me, back to Narnia. I would have been very upset had you said no."

"Did you think I would say no?" she said gently, lightly.

"Yes," came the blunt reply. "You lived so close to Aslan's country. Your father was alive. What I had to offer you - power as a queen - you did not want. What riches I had to offer you did not want."

"I would not have left my father for a man any less deserving," she said quietly. "You forget that you had yourself to offer."

"You have even forgiven me for nearly deserting you for Aslan's country."

At that, she laughed, her laugh musical and ringing as she wrapped her arms around her husband's neck. "I would have done the same thing. I am sorry, husband, but when Aslan calls, I will go without a second thought, though I would miss you terribly. He would be the only reason I would leave you."

"As would I."

"There now. There is no reason to forgive anything, then," she said gently.

"I hope he does not call you yet," the king said quietly, and Glenstorm was reminded of the orphaned boy, nearly murdered by his own uncle, and for the first time he understood the king's attachment to his tutor. The king had no family - not any which cared for him. The queen was his first real family in years.

The door opened at that time, and Glenstorm turned quickly to see Trumpkin bustling in. He held up his hand, indicating for him to be quiet. The dwarf looked confused, then saw the king and the queen in their study, and nodded in understanding. They waited quietly.

There is no sound for a long time, and the two finally took that moment to knock. They were called in, and Glenstorm could see that the king was unusually quiet and reflective, and the queen gently smiling. "Your Majesties. We have the report for the conference."

"We were just discussing that," the king replied crisply, and waved to the large table and chairs away from his desk. The two royal advisors gathered around, and the king and the queen carefully seated themselves near him. "A rather more distasteful aspect of it."

"Distasteful?" Trumpkin asked.

"Trumpkin," the king said, looking at the dwarf thoughtfully, and Glenstorm bowed his head to hide his smile. He knew what was coming. "Would you mind if you were seated at dinner between Ethram and the Taarkaan?"

Before he could stop, Trumpkin blurted, "Could you have Drinian do it?"


	8. Argoz

**The Daughter of the Star**  
by Sammie

DISCLAIMER: Not mine.

RATING: K+

Thank you to everybody who has read and added the story to alerts and to favorites lists, and to those who have taken the time to review! I'm sorry if I cannot respond to each as the schoolweek begins. Boo to real life. ;-)

With regards to the insightful comment on "Lord" and "Lady" Drinian - I'll address it here, as I assume others might have the same question. There were two things influencing my choice.

First was Drinian's title. I know nothing about medieval address, which anyhow seemed more fluid then than later. (I assume Lewis made Narnia medieval-ish.) I used post-medieval English titles and address _mostly_ (maybe incorrectly!). So: is "Lord Drinian", as Caspian introduces him, more the "Lord Worplesdon" type (has his own title) or the "Lord Bob Evans" type (doesn't have his own title and is a "lord" only because his father is titled)? I decided completely arbitrarily that Drinian held a title himself, making "Drinian" part of his title, and he's addressed by his title (not uncommon).

In other words, I made Drinian after the manner of Percy Craye, Lord Worplesdon: he's always referred to as "Worplesdon" or "Lord Worplesdon". His wife is "Lady Worplesdon", because "Worplesdon" is not his first name. (This also applies to George Wooster, Lord Yaxley; Antony Armstrong-Jones, Lord Snowdon; etc.)

Second was purely creative laziness, as was guessed (though the comment was much too kind to say 'laziness'!). I'm poor at coming up with clever Narnian names and also didn't want readers going, "Who was that again?" whenever I introduced a new, non-canon character, and so using "Lady Drinian" allowed me to convey her identity and her relationship to Drinian and to our royal couple without being confusing and without needing me to exert much brainpower. :-D

My decision may be complete rubbish in hindsight. I hope it's not so troublesome as to be distracting.

* * *

LORD ARGOZ

The first time she miscarried, so Lord Argoz was informed, the queen cried for three days.

She was so young and had been unaware that she had even conceived. Neither she nor her husband had known, until one day she had collapsed during an outing and was in such pain she fainted. She bled, the child was lost, and then she was in a half-conscious state. All of Narnia prayed; the king was nearly mad with grief and worry.

She woke two days later, was given some food, and then her husband and the court physician and her most trusted lady-in-waiting, Lady Windanwir, informed her of the couple's loss. She cried for days and was riddled with guilt for even longer for what she thought was some mistake she had made in not caring for herself.

It was a devastating storm in a marriage which had been, until this point, blissfully happy. The pair mourned the loss of what would have been their first child; King Nain had said privately that they seemed years older, more mature, when he saw them the next year, and Argoz agreed. Their loss had matured them far more quickly than their other duties.

The royal pair did not conceive again for three years, though it certainly wasn't from lack of trying. The court and the people were becoming restless and a little nervous, but still hopeful. This second time, it was barely her fourth month when she miscarried again.

In the seventh year, and her third time, she did not make it past the second month.

Her misfortune had its effects. The cruel tittered behind their fans, something of which she was never unaware. Their barely concealed contempt she bore with stoicism; the only ones who knew her grief were her husband, who shared it, and those in her close inner circle. These noblewomen (and Argoz used the term very loosely), still bitter at being passed over by the king in favor of the star's daughter, lorded their own fertility over her and hinted that her husband would seek his heir with another woman. The malice of disappointed matchmakers and opponents to the king had graduated to whisperings: Caspian had been a naive fool to take an exotic bride; she had bewitched him and was now being punished for it.

Even some of the good, loyal Narnians - who adored their queen and were in fact driven to disgusted fury by the derision she suffered in the court - worried that perhaps Aslan had intended a daughter of Eve for the queen's role - not the daughter of a star.

Her friends closed ranks. If the queen would not eliminate undesirables from the women's court, they would. It was a dangerous thing to laugh at the childlessness of the queen; it bore the potential of becoming a social pariah, shunned by women as high as the dowager duchess of the Lone Islands and her new daughter-in-law, and of course the Lady Windanwir and Peravis, the princess of Archenland. The countess of Glasswater had mocked the queen's barrenness at the annual harvest ball, and the next week the Lady Drinian gave her the cut direct on the street. Argoz heard the shunning whispered about for the next half year. The countess disappeard into her residence and rarely came out again - partly because nobody ever invited her anywhere any more. One's only allies were to find other bitter women on the fringes, women who had hoped to have the queen's crown and her husband (or those would could care less about the husband and had simply wanted the crown).

In the men's court, the same provocations. "Helpful" men who neither understood the Narnian throne and way of life nor this specific ruler suggested mistresses; they would at least prove the king's ability to produce a son, and he could legitimize, over his wife's objections, a child born out of wedlock - not that she could have any, not having done her duty to produce an heir.

The royal hand fell heavy on those who even dared to breathe a word of it. The first time somebody had been stupid enough to suggest it, the king came off his throne in a run, rushing headlong at the man and knocking him to the floor before Glenstorm and Dumnus had managed to pull the king off. While he certainly no longer reacted now as he had then, those who dared hint at it saw the flashes of the old Telmarine cruelty, the "Miraz expression" which had become increasingly rare as time passed. They often found themselves standing outside Cair Paravel with all their bags before they knew it. Yet, there were always those men who still tried.

To many, however, the king and the queen were the example of their own, private pain. The couple mourned each lost child, and Narnia mourned because they did. Old Narnians cherished their new queen, like them not a daughter of Eve; new Narnians who had the same struggle with childbearing felt a kinship to their queen. And the king was lauded as the best of men: his constant devotion to his sweet, childless wife endeared him to his subjects even more.

Argoz worried, to be sure. He was seeing all his concerns so many years ago bear fruit - she was not a daughter of Eve, and perhaps unable to carry the child of a son of Adam. Yet he was unable to attempt even an "I told you so"; he was unwilling to hurt the king, and to be honest, he himself had become one of the queen's steadiest supporters, seeing the wisdom in the king's choice.

It was the one unhappiness in their marriage. Neither Caspian nor Narnia would ever abandon their queen, but nobody who saw her thought her unaware both of her duty to produce an heir as well as of the long, embattled history of Narnia under Telmarine rule. People whispered: should Caspian die without issue, to whom would the throne pass? Would Old Narnia and the former Telmarines fall again into battle? Would Caspian be willing to have one of Nain's family take the throne, as Archenland had once taken as king the second son of King Frank of Narnia?

After the loss of his second child, the king arose every morning and looked over the sea to Aslan's country, and begged the Lion for the sake of his wife.

Argoz only hoped that this Aslan both trusted so much would intervene.

* * *

It was in a relative panic - and the queen was not the panic sort - that she and the king summoned the doctor well into her fourth pregnancy. Within the last two days, neither could feel the normally active child moving; five days later, the queen went into labor, just a week into her final month.

Argoz waited outside, as with the others. The queen's cries carried; the king's reassurances were audible despite the thick walls.

"A man should not be in the birthing chamber," Mavramorn murmured. Nobody agreed.

A few hours later, there was silence. Argoz, however, did not feel at peace.

There was the sound of a door swinging open and slamming against the opposite wall. The men waited in the room for the birth announcement, but nobody appeared.

Argoz took a deep breath and looked at the others, then carefully opened the door to the antechamber, shutting it behind him. He could see through the open door to the birthing chamber.

One of the queen's ladies-in-waiting, a faun, was running at full gallop out of the room from a side door. A maid was at work at what seemed to Argoz a frighteningly large hill of blood-soaked sheets. Everybody bustled around the bed, but he could still see the couple.

She lay unconscious, half-upright on the bed, her arms limp, her head fallen back, her hair wet with sweat and matted and messy, her skin a ghostly white. She looked dead, or close to it.

The king held her, her only support at the shoulders, his forehead leaning against hers as he desperately clutched at her unconscious form. Argoz could see his lips moving, repeating something over and over; what struck him was the panicked, desperate look in the king's eyes.

When the king's father was dying, the sobbing, disbelieving child had to be forcibly removed from his bedside; when his mother had died, they had made the decision not to tell the boy, which had caused a near scene at the wake when the child prince realized his mother had left him also.

Argoz shook himself free from the memory.

One of the nurses, Lady Havinar, a red dwarf Argoz recognized as one of the queen's closest ladies in waiting, passed close to him, starting at the sight of a man in the antechamber. She quickly stepped out of the birthing room and shut the doors behind her.

Argoz bowed. "The child?" he asked.

"Stillborn." The short, curt answer belied the waver, the tears in her voice.

Argoz sucked in a breath. "Does the king know?"

"Yes."

"Does the queen?"

The lady shook her head. "She lost consciousness during the birth - the doctor fears it was from blood loss - and has not yet recovered."

"The vial has been sent for?"

The lady nodded. The queen consort was always very adamant about the careful use of the famed Golden Age cordial, but Argoz was here in agreement with the king - the life of the queen was paramount to Narnia's safety.

"Has the king seen the child?"

"No, sir."

Argoz nodded. "With so many attending the queen, are you available to help me?" At her nod, he continued urgently, "I want you to bring me the child. Were there any clothes made? By the queen?"

"Yes. The christening gown."

"Wash the baby - gently - and put the gown on."

"Yes, my lord."

Argoz nodded, then paused. His voice became gentle. "Was it a boy or girl?"

"A little girl." The lady's eyes misted, and Argoz gently squeezed her shoulder.

As the door shut, he thought about returning to the others to inform them, then stopped. They had no doubt something was wrong; let the doctor inform them. His duty lay with the king.

He had waited for what seemed a long time to him when the door opened. The king paced the room, walking so quickly his long robe flapped behind him. "Sire," Argoz said quietly.

The king ran a hand down his face, stopping his pacing. One hand rested on his hip; his head was bowed. "The child was born dead." His voice was dull.

Argoz said nothing.

"She was bleeding," the king continued, referring now to his wife, the control he was exerting over his voice slipping. "She lost consciousness. We had to use Lucy's cordial again."

The king ran his hand through his hair, the agitation and the sorrow mixing on his face. "I should have never done it." Argoz watched as the king began pacing again. "I should have never taken her from her father and brought her here, to take ill and to come so near to death every time she gets with child!"

His voice cracked. "She nearly died. She nearly died. To have both - !" he left the thought unfinished; the sentiment seemed to bowl him over so hard he bent, as if physically struck, now resting his hands on his knees as if winded.

Some minutes later, the door opened again, and Argoz looked up. The king made no move from where he was, so Argoz slid towards the door. It was the lady-in-waiting, a small, white bundle in her arms. "The child," she mouthed.

He gently lifted the tiny bundle. "Do you know if they named her?" he murmured.

"They had names planned, my lord, but there was no time," she informed him.

Argoz nodded, gently cradling the lifeless form. He turned to look at the lady, who was trembling. "These things happen."

"She will be crushed," the other said, her eyes filling; she blinked quickly to try to stop them.

Argoz nodded and bowed. The lady curtsied, then let the door close.

The babe was so small, and her skin not the rich pink it should have been had she lived. She was so still, but with a peaceful look on her face. Argoz fervently hoped that it was true what the scholars said - that this Aslan took these small children who died so early and took special care of them in his own country.

He took a deep breath. "Your Majesty." Caspian straightened and turned, and Argoz noticed him stiffen as he saw them. "Your daughter, Sire."

He walked over, and he noticed the king standing, stunned. He seemed frozen. Argoz used his free hand to guide him to a chair placed discreetly off to the side, then carefully moved his arms into place. He gently slid the princess's body into her father's arms and then lifted the handkerchief from the baby's face. A small gasp escaped from younger man.

It suddenly occurred to him, again, how young the other man was. He might be the king, Argoz mused, but Caspian was a full generation younger than Argoz himself. The lord could feel the young man trembling as he looked on his child's face. "She's beautiful," he murmured, his voice wavering. "She looks exactly like her mother."

Argoz smiled. It was a little too early, really, to tell EXACTLY which parent the child had taken after. "Do you conclude that she looks like her mother simply because she is beautiful?" he teased gently. "I am sure many ladies of the court would hardly consider the baby's father to be hideous." He tried to keep his tone gentle and light.

Caspian gave a derisive snort; he seemed to realize what the older man was doing, trying to keep him on a even keel. Still, he could not keep the tears out of his voice. He ran a finger tenderly over his daughter's tiny, still fists. "She is so small."

"Yes."

The young man seemed as stunned by the child's presence as he was by the baby's death. He looked and looked at his daughter for ages, trying to memorize each feature, stroking her hair and caressing her tiny limbs.

"She has your mouth," Argoz said gently, after many minutes of silence.

"Do you think?"

"I presented you at your birth." Caspian instantly raised his head, looking at the lord. "It was my great privilege. His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince Caspian." He nodded at the infant in the now King Caspian's arms. "It was a very similar mouth."

The king looked back down at his child, cradling her as gently as if she were alive. "Everybody will say that it doesn't matter, that the baby's only a girl," he murmured.

"But that is not how you feel."

The younger man shook his head with more vigor than normal, as if trying to shake away tears. He did not look at his father's old friend.

"Because," Argoz said wisely, "she is your child, and is rightly just as precious to you and to your queen and to your Aslan as any heir would have been." He took a deep breath. "I would have been just as honored to present her as I did you."

Caspian breathed in shakily, and Argoz could almost hear the tears. He gently laid a hand on the shoulder of the grieving father and departed, going back into the room full of waiting advisors.

The door shut, and everybody looked at him. "The child is dead," Maravorn guessed, and Argoz nodded, not trusting himself to say any more.

Through the shut door, they could hear the king weeping.

* * *

Indelicate ambition knew no schedule but its own. It was little wonder, Argoz mused; idiots like these never thought of anybody else but themselves, anyhow. It had been less than half a year since the stillbirth of his young daughter and the near death of his wife when the king suffered through what Argoz considered one of the most morbid displays of shameless self-promotion, gross insensitivity, and moral turpitude he had ever seen. Miraz would have been delighted to know his brand of politics still existed.

The old lord knew there was something wrong with the newest Lord Mowbray when he met him, and he was rather disappointed to find out he was right. It began when Mowbray approached the king on the street, his beautiful niece on his arm. She had just come out into sicety and was presented to the queen the day before, along with some other girls. Argoz rather suspected this meeting today was not by accident.

"Your Majesty." Mowbray made a deep bow.

"Lord Mowbray," the king greeted pleasantly, albeit guardedly. "How do you do."

"Quite well, Sire, thank you." Mowbray inclined his head toward Argoz. "Lord Argoz."

Argoz resisted the urge to wipe the smug look off of Mowbray's face.

"May I present my niece?" Mowbray smiled. "She had the great honor of being presented to Her Majesty the queen yesterday."

The king executed a polite bow even as the girl curtsied. As she dipped, Argoz rolled his eyes. Clearly this was a planned meeting, given that ridiculously low-cut gown the girl wore.

She looked like the queen: tall, lithe, with long, golden hair in tresses down her back. Her eyes were bright and lively - and, in Argoz's opinion, calculating. And it was this last quality that, Argoz thought contemptuously, made her completely unworthy of the king's notice.

Mowbray and his niece continued to chat up the king, gushing over how much the latter enjoyed meeting the queen, et cetera, et cetera. Clearly this entire conversation was simply to give the niece time to arrange herself to her best advantage. Argoz rolled his eyes at the ground. If that girl attempted to heave her chest one more, she was going to pop right out of that bodice. And it would serve them both right for that to happen on this public street.

The king seemed completely oblivious to the niece, focusing instead on the annual presentation to the queen of the newest young women in the Narnian court. Dear boy, Argoz thought fondly. His father would have been proud of him.

After an appropriate time, Argoz cleared his throat. "Your Majesty."

"Oh, yes, of course. Excuse us, please. We have some pressing business." The king bowed in valediction to both, and the two hurried off.

Argoz wished this was the end of it. It wasn't.

Mowbray's niece hung around her uncle's home for the next month, showing up at all and sundry public events and even in places where she should not have. Revilian had caught on quickly, and he had had some of the royal couple's closest household managers alerted privately. There would be no chance of scandal, and no chance of embarrassing the queen.

It didn't take long for the ambitious Mowbray and his social-climbing niece to slip. The king had inadvertently played a role; he was always polite and kind to everybody, and it was misinterpreted as interest. It seemed to lure Mowbray into a false sense of security.

Argoz stood quietly in the king's study as the two worked on some recent legislation which needed work before the king went into Beruna for a week-long campaign. Mowbray had the final piece of legislation, having (too eagerly, Argoz thought) volunteered himself for the task.

Speaking of the devil, Argoz thought, as Mowbray was announced. And speaking of the devil in a red dress - here was the niece.

"I hope you will excuse me, Your Majesty." Mowbray bowed low. "I had some pressing business and so brought my niece along instead of taking her home first."

Yes, Argoz thought snidely. The pressing business of attempting to seduce the king using your niece.

"Yes, of course." The king graciously waved them to the open chairs near him. The girl arranged herself prettily.

"I understand the queen is ill," Mowbray said sympathetically, "and will not be able to accompany Your Majesty to Beruna." Argoz rolled his eyes at the paperwork. Suddenly the farming laws the paperwork discussed seemed terribly interesting. Corn! Cornhusks! Corn silk! Fun!

"Yes, I'm afraid so." Caspian smiled tensely, his worry for his queen over her face. "How can I serve you, Lord Mowbray?"

"I have the legislation you wanted."

"Oh, yes, of course."

"We...we also will, of course, be returning west, even as you go to Beruna," Mowbray offered. "We would be happy to aid you however you wish." Argoz rolled his eyes, then stopped and sighed to himself. If he did this too much, his eyes would be stuck in a permanent state of exasperated roll. But he did so hate hangers-on.

"Thank you," Caspian nodded, distracted by all the paperwork.

"I, of course, am your devoted servant. My niece is, also." He paused. "Since the queen is unable to attend you, my niece is...willing to serve whatever needs Your Majesty might have."

Argoz jerked inadvertently, staring at Mowbray with his mouth hanging open. By the Lion's mane, this was too much! He didn't know why this audacity shocked him - it had been tried already by those who had been both worse and better at it than Mowbray. But, for heaven's sake, the poor boy had only gone through a family crisis less than six months ago! Could Mowbray have been any less sensitive? Or was he attempting to hit during what he (wrongly) considered a weak point in the king's marriage?

If the king had heard, he seemed to make no indication, scanning the legislation Mowbray had handed him. There was a long moment of silence, and then the calm command: "Get out."

Argoz winced. The king's voice was barely controlled - tense and clipped. The former Telmarine recognized that tone of anger; what had been a tic of Caspian the Ninth had passed on nearly intact to the Tenth. The king was, in short, absolutely furious. The old lord edged closer to younger man, and he could see that the king was gripping his quill so hard his hand was shaking and the knuckles had gone white. If Mowbray knew anything, he'd run. Now.

"Sire?" the ambitious lord attempted, as if in disbelief at his dismissal.

"Get. Out."

"Your Majesty." The man bowed out of custom, clearly not out of respect, and departed from the room, his niece wisely following him.

The king grabbed Mowbray's work right in the center, crinkling the pages. He thrust the handful at Argoz, his voice trembling with fury. "Lord Argoz, if you would, please, give instructions that Mowbray does not return to Cair Paravel."

"Yes, your Majesty." Argoz took the papers and started out the door, then paused at the doorway. "Sire, I certainly do not condone the practice, but it is common."

"I am well aware that many consider 'romantic feeling' sufficient to break serious vows made to one's wife, even vows made before Aslan," Caspian snapped. "I do not. A man so easily swayed against his oath, especially a vow made to the woman he marries, is not a man. I would not tolerate such betrayal on the battlefield. I will not tolerate it in my marriage."

"Yes, Sire."

"Make an example of Mowbray. I am well aware of his machinations, his uncle having shoved his two daughters under my nose in an attempt to induce me to matrimony into his family when I first came to the throne. I had hoped the nephew was different, but apparently not. I trust you will keep me posted on his comings and goings."

"Yes, Sire." Argoz paused, then cleared his throat. "There is another matter, since you mentioned vows."

"Yes?"

"The lord Aenrichian."

"Lord chamberlain of our household. What of him?"

"He - he just moved his mistress in with him under your roof." Argoz kept his head down, waiting for the explosion. When he looked up slightly, the king was on his feet, his jaw set in fury. "She is not near the queen, of course."

"Remove - "

"I will remove the mistress, sir."

"Remove them both."

Argoz frowned. "Sire, he has been a very efficient chief - "

"He is at as much fault as she is. Remove them both. I will not have this in my household." Caspian smacked the quill down, the flat of his hand slamming against the desk's oak top. "Please send Lord Revilian to me. If he will accept it, he will be the new lord chamberlain."

* * *

This was the sixth conception, Argoz thought as he counted mentally, and the second time the lords were gathered to await a birth announcement. Aslan have mercy and allow this one to finish as normally as it proceeded, Argoz pleaded. As he looked around, he could see the same thought flickering through the minds of the others.

The queen was in labor for nearly a day. Narnians waited anxiously outside of Cair Paravel, alternately pacing and pleading silently with the Lion for the safe delivery of a child. Stags and Talking Horses and centaurs paced the inner courts, waiting for an announcement they would take to the rest of the waiting subjects.

The lords waited again, two rooms down from the birthing room. The king was with his wife inside; around them were her ladies-in-waiting and the doctor.

There was soon, mingled with the other noise in the room, the healthy bawling of an upset infant.

[ v d t ]

After what seemed to Argoz an interminable wait - though, in reality, it was mere minutes - the doors opened, and the Lady Havinar stood in the doorway, waving him in. As they entered the antechamber and came towards the birthing room, the delighted face of the lady-in-waiting telling Argoz all had gone well. Through the doorway, the old lord could see the king, cradling his new child in his arms. The king was so delightedly oblivious to everything else in the room except his new son, and the pain and the worry and the grief that had come before seemed to vanish. The former Telmarine paused, hoping, then looked down at the Narnian dwarf, who beamed. "A son. Healthy, of course."

Argoz couldn't stop the smile of relief.

Now the new father carefully stepped over to the bed where his wife lay, the new mother looking exhausted but happy. Her ladies-in-waiting carefully propped the pillows around her and pulled her damp hair away from her face. He slid onto the bed ever so carefully to her; she pushed herself up to a sitting position and gently traced her hand over her son's features. The father slid their child into the mother's arms, kissing her tenderly as he did so.

Argoz smiled, then quietly turned away, as did queen's ladies-in-waiting, to give the couple their privacy.

[ v d t ]

Argoz held the boy gingerly, taking care to support his head and adjusting the swaddling slightly. He could swear the baby growled at him. Ahead of him, Lady Havinar and Lady Windanwir opened the large doors, allowing him to step into the chamber where the council waited.

The nobles of the court looked up as Argoz strode in purposefully. He saw their expressions change - lighten - as they looked up, the only signs of their exhaustion the day-old stubble on their faces. Old and new Narnian shook hands with each other in delight and in relief, laughing and clapping each other on the back as if they themselves were the new parents.

Lady Havinar climbed up next to the table and carefully lay the large, embroidered pillow onto the surface. The lord gently lay the sleeping infant on top, even as the lords of the council gathered around. The infant fussed a little, then quieted.

"His Royal Highness," Lord Argoz announced. "The Crown Prince Rilian." 


	9. Rilian, Part 1

**The Daughter of the Star**  
by Sammie

DISCLAIMER: Not mine.

RATING: K+

* * *

PRINCE RILIAN

His papa and his mama were the best in the entire world. And he should know, because his papa sailed to the end of the world and his mama was from there, and so they had seen the whole world already.

And no matter what Ylef said, Rilian's mama was prettier than his, and it was not because Mama was a queen. Everybody said Mama was the beautifulest lady in Narnia, and Ylef's mama looked like a horse. (Well, Ylef and his parents WERE Talking Horses, but no matter.) And besides, Papa always said Mama was the wonderfulest woman he had ever seen, and Papa was always right.

Papa said he had never known what beauty meant before he had seen Mama.

Rilian was always confused about that, because Papa was smart, and Rilian himself already knew what the word 'beauty' meant, and he was only five. Rilian supposed that Papa must not have known "beauty" meant because, well, perhaps they didn't have dictionaries when Papa was growing up. Granduncle Miraz was very mean, or so he heard. So he asked Dr. Cornelius about it, and the old tutor just laughed and laughed and laughed and hugged him tight, and Rilian never got his answer.

His papa and his mama were the best in the entire world. Even Henrietta had said so, although whenever Henrietta said this she always ended with, "But you're NOT!" Henrietta was a very bossy hedgehog, and Rilian really didn't like when she came to Cair Paravel. He and Ylef and Moorswind the centaur and Darby, who was Lord Drinian's son, and the badger Meadowlands, whose papa was Trufflehunter, and the rabbit Pepperhop, and Glastonmar, who was the son of Lord - oh, Rilian couldn't remember Glasty's father's name, and Puffle, who was related to Lord Trumpkin, all played together, but they all tried to hide when Henrietta came because she was so BOSSY.

Once, he and Darby and Pepperhop had climbed into the apple trees near the castle and made it hail acorns on Henrietta's tea party (she was going to make them wear DRESSES!), and Henrietta was so bossy she made them come down and pick all the acorns out of her teacups and her dolls' hair.

Papa said he had to be kind and let Henrietta go first because she was a girl, and Mama said he had to be kind and let her go first because he was a prince, and Rilian was beginning to wish he was a normal girl and not a boy prince so that he could tell Henrietta exactly where to stick her teacup.

When he complained about Henrietta to Lord Revilian, who was in charge of the castle household, the old lord just laughed and hugged Rilian tight. Then he showed Rilian a secret passageway in Cair Paravel that would let him sneak from the garden, where Henrietta always had her tea parties, into the cloisters without being seen. Rilian beamed and gave the lord a big hug. He really liked Lord Revilian.

There was only one person worse than Henrietta. At least Henrietta didn't cry; she was just bossy. But Ursina was a crybaby, and a big crybaby for being a bear, and then she'd suck her paws and cry, and all the grown-ups would rush to talk to her and give her what she wanted. And when he complained about it to Papa, who was working with Lord Trumpkin, Papa just smiled. Lord Trumpkin, though, laughed and laughed, and later he told Rilian that, well, Ursina's grandpapa had done the same thing, too - suck his paws. And he was terrible at it. And Ursina's grandpapa would even suck his paws in front of the legendary High King Peter the Magnificent and his brother King Edmund the Just.

Rilian giggled. And Papa gave the Lord Trumpkin a LOOK.

Rilian's best friends ever were Meadowlands and Pepperhop and Darby. Pepperhop had so many brothers and sisters - every year he had more and more. Rilian was really quite envious; he didn't have any brothers or sisters. Darby had five older brothers - five! - and a little sister, and Meadowlands also had a little sister. Henrietta had a baby brother, and so did Puffle. They all told Rilian that having brothers and sisters wasn't really THAT wonderful, but on days when he was by himself, Rilian really wished he had at least one.

Pepperhop generously offered him some of his brothers and sisters - by the Lion's mane, there was so many! - but came back the next day and sadly announced that his mama and papa wouldn't give them up. They wouldn't give up a single one, even when Pepperhop pointed out that there would be more room at home in their rabbit hutch if some of the baby bunnies went to live at Cair Paravel.

Darby offered Rilian his sister, but Darby's mama and papa said no, too. Darby thought it was too bad. He didn't really like his sister. She cried a lot.

Meadowlands suggested that Rilian ask his mama and his papa, because, the badger said wisely, that was where he had gotten his little sister. So Rilian decided to do so. He was crawling into bed one night, and his mama and his papa were tucking him in, and he asked them for at least one brother or sister. It didn't have to be a brother, he offered magnanimously; it could be a girl, so long as she wasn't bossy like Henrietta. But they said only that Aslan had decided they should stay just as they are, at least for now; and they looked so very, very sad that Rilian never asked them about it again.

He talked to Dr. Cornelius, who told him very gently that he did have brothers and sisters, some of whom would have been older and one younger, and they had died very, very young, and that's why his papa and his mama were so sad. He asked the old tutor if he might ever see them, and Doctor Cornelius said that, while he couldn't be sure because Aslan had never said it, he thought all his brothers and sisters were in Aslan's country.

Rilian might be only five, but he knew what that meant. When Nurse had left for Aslan's country he did not see her again. And while he wanted very much to see Aslan's country and Aslan himself (both Papa and Mama had seen Aslan - many times, too!), he felt very sad for all his brothers and sisters who hadn't had time with Papa and Mama, because, well, they were the best in the world. And wasn't it a shame his brothers and sisters didn't get time with them, he said to Dr. Cornelius, even if they got to see Aslan every day. He would want to see Aslan AND Mama and Papa every day, if he could. Dr. Cornelius agreed.

He was curious about his brothers and sisters. What did one do in Aslan's country? Did one work? Did one swim? Did one eat? He hadn't known anybody who had come back from there, and Dr. Cornelius couldn't really tell him. All the adults spoke of the great Mouse Reepicheep, who had gone into Aslan's country, and how brave and willing he was to fight. Rilian had met Peepiceek before. He thought Peepiceek was very brave, and Peep had said very humbly that he had been nothing to Reepicheep. But one didn't really fight in Aslan's country, did one?

It would be many years before that concerned him again so personally.

* * *

His father was in a security meeting when the prince arrived home with his mother's body. He alerted the guard at the door, and the faun obeyed immediately, seeing the prince's solemn and dark look.

His father emerged, worried; Rilian had always been taught never to disturb meetings unless it was a matter of the utmost importance. "What is wrong?"

He looked at his father, opened his mouth, and nothing came out. He shut his mouth, his eyes flickering up briefly towards his father, then back down.

"Rilian," his father repeated.

"We put Mother in the state room," the prince blurted. "The Tumnus state room."

His father frowned, clearly confused and increasingly alarmed.

"She died after the bite," Rilian tried to clarify, but his own thoughts were too jumbled to give an accurate description.

The look on his father's face was devastating. He burst into a run, the days in the field keeping him fit enough. He was already calling for Queen Lucy's vial, though Rilian knew it would do nothing; it could not bring back any who had already crossed into Aslan's country. As the King ran down the hall towards the state room, the courtiers who had been with the prince and the queen on their trip all turned to Rilian, looking down the hall at him.

Rilian ignored them, striding after his father. When he entered the room, his father was not the calm man Rilian had always known him to be. His father was standing by the bier on which the courtiers had laid his mother, patting his wife's cheek urgently, gently at first, and then slapping more forcefully, as if she were only asleep. The centaur in charge of Queen Lucy's vial came galloping in just seconds after Rilian's own arrival and stopped short; he saw instantly what the king had yet to accept. The centaur turned to look at Rilian, who was unable to return the gaze.

"Quickly," the king barked.

"Sire - " the centaur began.

"Now!" Caspian roared, with an expression which had come to be known as his "Miraz moments."

The centaur dropped some of the liquid on the dead queen's cold lips. As expected, nothing happened.

"What - " The king faced them.

"Father - " Rilian said quietly. "Father, it has been hours. She died moments after being bitten, before the man I sent to Cair to fetch the vial had even passed out of our sight."

A tomb-like silence fell over the stateroom. The centaur kept his head bowed, the soft tap of his hooves on the stone floor evidence of his sorrow and discomfort. Rilian stared fixedly on the wall behind his father. The cheerful, gentle smile of the stained-glass Mr. Tumnus looked down from the main window facing the door, his umbrella closed as he looked around in wonder at the thaw, as the horrible winter ended.

So incongruous for this moment.

"Leave." The king remembered his manners. "Please."

"Father - " "Sire - "

"Leave, please." The repeated command was devoid of warmth, defeated.

The centaur and the prince exchanged concerned looks but withdraw quietly. Outside, the other courtiers were waiting, and the centaur shooed them away, giving one backward glance to the now mother-less heir to the throne.

Rilian stood in the hall alone, just a few feet from the room, facing the ornate, closed doors. There was silence at first, and then a keening sound, and the sound of sobbing from the other side of the door. It continued for two hours straight.

* * *

His father was dry-eyed at the funeral. The Narnians were crying and had been for days as they filed past his mother's body, which had been lying in state after being gently prepared by the ladies who attended her.

Idly, Rilian mused on the fact that, right now, a young faun who had arrived alone was crying into the shirt of one of the humans, who was gently rubbing his back. The man was ancient, even older than his father, which meant he was a Telmarine.

No - had been. Had once been a Telmarine.

The first years of his father's reign ended the physical warfare between the old Narnians and the new Narnians - the Telmarines. Eradicating prejudices was a little harder, and his father had spent his lifetime trying to reconcile peacefully the lives of the human Telmarines and the old Narnians. Centuries of bitterness and fear were hard to forget. His mother had, by her very person, been an unexpected boon. A year in, the secret had gotten out that the king's wife was not human.

It had set off a firestorm that burned right up to the steps of Cair Paravel.

There had been shocked chatter for a year after. The queen was a star! No, she was a half-star! She had fallen from the sky onto the Dawn Treader! The king had gone into the sky to get her; didn't the centaurs say that a star from the Southern Cross had gone missing? Would she burn the king - wasn't that a burn mark on his hand? What about the odd lights at Cair Paravel at night?

The queen had passed her second task of diplomacy. Making an unprecedented appearance with her new Narnian and old Narnian ladies-in-waiting, she had revealed just enough of her parentage to quash rumors. She was human in appearance and physicality but of the same world as the old Narnians. It seemed the mere action of marrying his mother had brought more credibility to his father's throne than most of his actions; the king and his most intimate partner were the representation of the modern Narnia, the marriage of the Telmarine and the talking, created things.

Not that his father had planned this. Rilian knew his father had not thought of this aspect; he recalled with a small smile that, according to the amused Lord Drinian, his father had not been thinking at all when it came to his mother except to be sure that he wanted her.

Rilian thought, with great irony, that in some ways his mother's death had achieved what both his parents had worked so hard for when both lived, yet without complete success. As the little faun sobbed, and the old grandfather comforted him, blinking back tears of his own, Rilian wondered if at least some very, tiny good had come out of his mother's death.

Eventually the small, young faun recovered enough to trot up to the king, nearly tripping over his own two feet. The old, former Telmarine steadied him from behind, and the small faun stammered and stuttered and hiccupped his way through a clearly prepared but heartfelt condolence, complete with a clearly cherished story about how he met the queen once. Rilian could see his father's eyes fill with tears.

That night, Rilian watched his father walk up to their - now just his - bedroom. His steps were slower; he appeared heavier; he seemed much older. 


	10. Trumpkin

**The Daughter of the Star**  
by Sammie

DISCLAIMER: Not mine.

RATING: K+

Do not fear - this seemingly never-ending story does in fact have an end - tomorrow. Hang in there; we're almost to the end. (I mean, the eponymous character's already dead, so how much longer could it be? ;-) )

* * *

LORD TRUMPKIN

"Is the king here?"

Trumpkin looked up in surprise, then calmed as he noticed Drinian standing in the doorway. He had not heard the lord come in; unfortunately, the dwarf mused darkly, it seemed his hearing was not as good as it once was. "Yes. In the council room."

Drinian nodded and left without another word.

Trumpkin went back to his work, then frowned. He looked down the hall after the former Dawn Treader captain, who was walking ramrod straight, his head held high. There was something very wrong, it seemed, but the dwarf couldn't put his finger on what it was. After a moment, he shook it off. He was being ridiculous. He needed to work on this urgent report.

The prince had disappeared.

It was the most pressing matter of business, for the entire nation. The heir was gone - and to where, nobody knew. The mourning nation, just barely recovered from the queen's death, was now scrambling for any news of the prince. Trumpkin hoped, rather than believed, that the prince simply needed some time to himself to grieve, and had sought for some solitude.

Quite frankly, the king had not set the best example of mourning.

That said, the ever-loyal advisor was wont to excuse his king. The man had never been taught how to mourn: he lost his parents at such a young age, and the death of his uncle had saved his life. His queen, the woman he had cherished for thirty plus years, had been taken so suddenly he had not had the chance to say good-bye. He could hardly set an appropriate example of what to do. Unfortunately, the prince had looked to his father for guidance. And now the prince was gone.

Hence, Trumpkin's report. The dwarf was in charge of the search.

There were sightings in various reports and reports on all different tracking techniques - broken twigs here, a dash of royal purple cloth there. A possibility here, a guess there. There was so little on which to base any real search except what the household servants had seen: that the prince was seeking revenge for his mother's death near where she had died in the northern marches and used to return home looking tired, but that lately he would ride out and be gone a long time, but his horse was never tired, and he looked changed.

To be quiet honest, Trumpkin thought some of those descriptions were rubbish. He needed more concrete information than "the prince looked like he'd seen visions".

Suddenly, there came a half-wail, half-scream of agony from the council room, and Trumpkin jumped off his chair, cursing his old bones as he dashed down the long hall. He could see Voluns the faun, who had been working on the economic accounts, burst out of his office and follow him, the clip of his hooves a staccato on the stone floor.

The door to the council room was open but seemed very far away; the dwarf could see everything but seemed unable to reach the two men in time. Trumpkin watched in horror as the king raised a battle-axe and rushed headlong at his old friend. Drinian knelt on the floor, his head bowed, his hands behind his back, like a man at an execution. He did not move.

At the last moment, the battle-axe fell to the floor with a clatter, and a panting Trumpkin skidded to a stop behind the horrified Voluns. The king fell upon Drinian and embraced him. "'I have lost my queen and my son: shall I lose my friend also?'" As both men wept, Trumpkin bowed his head, and he and Voluns quietly moved away from the door.

The two hovered nearby in different rooms in the corridor for two hours, waiting for Drinian and the king to emerge. When they finally did, Caspian summoned Voluns for a meeting. The faun looked wary, and then confused, but obediently gathered his materials.

Drinian trudged down the hall from the council room, his eyes still red-rimmed; he seemed to sag a little. Trumpkin stopped him at the door to his office. "Drinian." The former ship captain looked at him. "Have something to eat."

The lord nodded, then came in. "And the king?"

"Voluns had sent for food to be delivered to the council room in half-an-hour if you two had not emerged." The dwarf climbed back into his seat, then waved to the open chair, next to which was a tray of food. "Have you heard from Darby?" Trumpkin asked conversationally.

For some reason, the mention of his own son, his youngest, seemed to make Drinian deflate. The lord pressed on stoically, however. "Darby is well. I heard from him last via a messenger from the Lone Islands, where the new duchess welcomed him - Bern's eldest daughter inherited the dukedom when he passed, having had no sons. From there, they are sailing on."

"Like father, like son." Trumpkin grinned.

"Yes." Drinian paused, picking at his food. After a moment, he looked up. "I understand you are researching the prince's disappearance."

"Yes."

"He would have gone after that woman."

Trumpkin instantly looked up, frowning. Most certainly nothing about a woman in the previous accounts. Drinian set his half-eaten slice of bread down. "I can provide you a description and a drawing."

Trumpkin handed him paper, and for the next hour, they worked in silence. The dwarf stole glances at the lord, who had been scribbling without stop. In the second half-hour, a drawing emerged, with all the appropriate colors labeled. Then Drinian set down the pen and thrust the papers at Trumpkin. "Any who attempt to find the prince should read this - or better, come to find me."

Trumpkin scanned the papers, then asked slowly, "Do you know the lady, Drinian?"

"No. And if I ever see her again, I will kill her myself." The captain got up and left, leaving a stunned royal advisor behind.

* * *

Trumpkin grinned as he saw the young man stride into the council room. Darby, like his older brothers, was even better looking than his father Drinian; the lords used to tease the former captain that he had chosen well in picking his beautiful, spirited wife. Drinian just made faces, but it was evident he was proud of his sons - especially this one, who had inherited his passion for the sea.

After being announced, the young naval commander came into the council room, executing a smart bow which his father repeated.

"Darby." The king smiled, coming down from his throne to greet both father and son. Even the dwarf could see, from his seat, that as delighted as the king was to see both men, the smile did not reach his eyes. "I enjoyed the account of the voyage you took past Coriakin's island. Did you chance to see the Dufflepuds?"

"Indeed, Your Majesty." The young man grinned. "They are as amusing to see in person as you and Father described."

"Ah. You will have to sit down and tell me more."

"In due time, Sire. I was wondering if I might make a request."

"Of course," the king replied generously.

"I wish to make another journey."

Trumpkin didn't speak, but he rather thought that the boy should at least spend some time at home with his poor parents, who hadn't seen him for nearly half a year.

Evidently the king felt the same way. "Your crew needs some time to rest, Darby. And I believe your parents would like some time to see you at home."

"I will not take a crew. And I fully intend to return."

"I have no doubt of that." The king chuckled. "Ah, youthful enthusiasm. Whence is it you wish to sail now?"

"Not sailing, sir." The young man drew himself to full height. "I wish to search for His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince Rilian."

Trumpkin sat up instantly, even as a long silence descended over the otherwise empty council room. The dwarf could almost swear that even his breathing was echoing around the chairs. Drinian did not lift his head to look at the king.

The king gave no response, so Darby pressed on with confidence. "Sire, I had the privilege of growing up with your son, of knowing him as a close playmate. We played together in the woods. I know your son in ways that you, as father, do not; I know your son in ways that my own father does not. I - "

"Drinian." The king addressed the father.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"I cannot imagine you are pleased." Nor did the king sound pleased. "We have lost over thirty champions already."

Trumpkin fingered the armrest of his chair. Thirty-two, to be exact. The king had personally visited the family of each man who had gone to search for the prince and not returned. He knew well what number had been lost.

"My son and I are your honored servants, my lord," Drinian replied quietly. "We are dedicated to the service of the Lion and to yours and to Narnia's."

"I have never doubted it," came the king's voice, ever so soft. Trumpkin nodded confidently, and he watched the king's old friend raise his head ever so slightly, meeting the gaze of his monarch. Their friendship had never been stronger than now, since the prince's disappearance.

Darby drew himself up. "Sire, I ask only for a week in which I might prepare and properly scout the - "

"No."

Trumpkin was expecting this response. As much as it pained him, the king would not, in good conscience, send more to die on a fruitless search. The dwarf could see Drinian frown and Drinian's son stop short in shock. Neither man had expected this, but Trumpkin had. The king had made that decision with him last night, and then Trumpkin had sat quietly and loyally with him as the king wept for his lost child; their decision to call off the search was, in some ways, consigning the prince to the grave.

The king motioned to Trumpkin, and the dwarf slid off his chair and handed to Darby the scroll he had just written that morning.

"Read," the king instructed.

Darby gave his father a confused look, then unrolled the scroll and began to read. "_A royal decree from Caspian, by the gift of Aslan, King of Narnia, Emperor of the Lone Islands, and Lord of Cair Paravel, and Knight of the Noble Order of the How. For to prevent the further effusion of blood, and for the avoidance of all other deaths likely to grow from the searches in the northern marches of Narnia, it is our solemn wish and decree that, henceforth, no more champions shall seek for the whereabouts of His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince Rilian, Duke of the Lantern Waste and Knight of the Noble Order of the How._" Darby stopped halfway through. "Your Majesty, please - I - but - you cannot be serious!" he blurted.

Trumpkin kept quiet, as did Drinian - wisely. This was no longer a debate between a boy and the father of his childhood friend; it was now one between a subject and a king.

"Sire - " Darby protested.

"No." The king stood to his feet. "I should have stopped allowing any more seekers when the death count was at thirty; too many Narnians have given their lives to find my son. Yet I hoped, fruitlessly. Today I know my folly." He stepped down from his throne and crossed the floor to the younger man. "You are far better served here in my service than on some wild goose chase."

"But Sire - "

"No."

Trumpkin could see Drinian sag ever so slightly in relief. The dwarf had no doubt the father would willingly give his life for Rilian's recovery; weekly Drinian had sent a request to Trumpkin for an update on the searches. Drinian had also quietly supplemented the income of a family whose eldest son had been lost in the search for the prince. His full dedication was to his king, but no doubt the former captain would have gladly gone in his son's place to die if it had meant the return of both the prince and his son, alive.

The captain no doubt felt that he owed the king his son in exchange for the prince, even if both men knew that the king would never count losses in such a manner.

"Lord Trumpkin," the king boomed, and the dwarf started after him. The king continued to the door, then turned. "You have a duty to Narnia on the sea," he began in his regal, authoritative voice, addressing Drinian's son. "I will have need of that yet."

* * *

"The king took a fall today." Denabik climbed unceremoniously into his seat at the council table.

"How bad?" Voluns frowned.

"He slipped and was unable to get back up without help." The red dwarf looked around grimly at the other advisors.

Trumpkin sighed. The king had aged rapidly in the last eight years, losing much of his vigor and looks and energy. He had had the family he had lost so early in his childhood, only to have it ripped from him within a month. The king had not aged well in the wake of the queen's death and their son's disappearance. He still ruled as he always had, but he seemed sadder than ever.

"We called Cloudbirth," Denabik continued. "Severe bruising to the bone, but providentially, no broken bones or internal injury."

"It's been eight years," Dumnus said quietly, stroking his now graying sideburns.

"Going on nine," Denabik finished. "If we do not have a named heir, Narnia will plunge back into chaos." He paused. "There are women enough who are still willing to marry the king and give him an heir."

"The problem was never the women," Trumpkin huffed. "NEVER the women."

"His Majesty still mourns for the queen," Glenstorm replied solemnly.

"So does the rest of the country." Dumnus sighed. "They still mourn because he does."

"They still mourn," Drinian replied shortly, "because she was a woman worthy of being mourned."

"Nobody questions that, my lord," Denabik replied. "But I have no wish to plunge back into the strife between old and new Narnians. The king has had his hands full with us already. He is much older, and he must have time to train his successor, as he had been training the crown prince when His Royal Highness disappeared."

"The king would marry out of duty to Narnia," Dumnus mused. "He would do what is needed."

"The question is not whether the king will do his duty if we press," Trumpkin replied sharply. He was never going to ask the king to do what they wanted the king to do - not unless Aslan himself came and told the dwarf to say so to the king. "The question is whether we have even the right to ask this of him. Has he not given up enough for us? His queen is gone. His son is gone, and he refuses to send any one else after him."

The council fell silent, and then Drinian turned to Glenstorm. "Advise us," he said, but the words were more of a plea than a command.

All eyes turned to the centaur. There was the clip-clop of hooves on the stone floor as the centaur shifted on his feet. When he spoke again, it was not direct.

"There was once a great leader," the centaur intoned, "who was childless. His own mother had been childless for a very long time; now his wife was barren. Instead of attempting a human solution, he pleaded with Aslan."

Trumpkin could feel the centaur's eyes fall on each advisor at the table. There was no more talk of the matter.

* * *

The dwarf stood in the large mausoleum, looking at the spot where the queen had been buried some nine years ago. He thought back to when he had first seen her, bareheaded and beautiful, coming down the gangplank on the king's arm. He thought back to when he had last seen her, still beautiful, even in death, and the wretched looks on the faces of her husband and of her son.

There was a sigh, and next to him Trumpkin noticed Drinian. The two men had become closer than ever during the last nine years since the king had lost his family.

"I wonder about Ramandu." The sea captain was looking up into the night sky. "When we met the queen and her father, he was a star at rest, waiting to go back into the sky. Is he up there now? Does he see his daughter's grave?" He paused. "Did he regret giving the king permission to marry his daughter?"

"Would you?" Trumpkin asked.

There was a long silence, and then the other man said slowly, "No." Drinian shook his head but didn't look at his companion. "No, I would wish my own daughter to have had the life the queen had, even cut short. I have never seen a pair so honoring of Aslan by their lives, and I would want my daughter's husband to be as devoted to her as the king was to the queen. He adored her. He does still."

"As, I have no doubt, she does him." Trumpkin tilted his head toward the darkening sky as the stars came out.

Drinian stopped, shrugging, still looking at the stars, which were coming out. "But - " he shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. As a father, to see one's child suffer..." he trailed off.

"What I want to know is if the queen's father knows where his grandson's gave is," Trumpkin said stoutly, staring up into the starry sky, "and if he saw how the prince ended. Or, if he knows his grandson's alive, and where he is. That would be infinitely helpful."

Drinian smiled at that, chuckling a little. "Oh, certainly."

The two men stood in silence, and then the captain murmured, "Not one of us on the Dawn Treader would have foreseen this end for them."

Both stared silently at the etching of the queen's name, and her dedication: "Dearly cherished wife and mother", and then two lines the king had personally asked to be put on: "...the stars threw down their spears / and watered heaven with their tears." *

"Glenstorm has gone to see the king."

Trumpkin frowned. "That is not odd."

"He said he believes there is something foretold in the stars." Drinian crossed his arms, looking up with great seriousness. "I don't know how he does it. I've only ever used the stars for navigation."

"And I've only ever used them to light my way at night," Trumpkin replied. "But what did Glenstorm say?"

"Something about a great conflict in message: both portending disastrous implications and, oddly, seeming to assemble in honor of Aslan, of potentially his coming. He isn't sure which one is right."

"Couldn't it be both?" Trumpkin asked, drawing on his knowledge of the old stories, the ones he had discounted before but had firmly believed for decades now. "Aslan always seems to come when things are at its worst in Narnia."

Drinian smiled.

* * *

Trumpkin sat near the ship, right at the pier, and watched the happenings on the docked ship.

"The king's cabin," directed the first mate. The movers shifted the equipment past the ornate doors into the room, taking care not to scratch the wood.

There had been sightings of Aslan in Terebinthia. The king was sailing there to ask who should rule Narnia after him.

Trumpkin felt somewhat useless. Old age had made him less able physically and much rounder. His good friend Drinian had passed on to Aslan's country a few months ago, and this hustle and bustle was now for Drinian's youngest son, Darby, who would captain this ship and lead the voyage.

Trumpkin hoped that Darby could hold the line against the king as well as his father had. Should the king not find Aslan in Terebinthia, everybody feared that he'd keep sailing - to the Seven Isles, to the Lone Islands, and keep going; after all, his greatest happiness had been found in that voyage to the end of the world. Drinian had never spoken of it openly, but certain comments had made Trumpkin rather suspect that something quite nearly disastrous had happened at the end of the world during the Dawn Treader's voyage, and they had barely prevented the king from making a terrible mistake - or, he had been prevented from the mistake (if Sir Rhince was to be believed) by a combination of the Queen Lucy's powers of persuasion and his own desire to see the star's daughter again.

Trumpkin could hear the first mate shouting from the poop deck. This ship was grander, larger, more beautiful - more like the beautiful ships of the Golden Age, akin to the Splendour Hyaline. Yet he himself had no doubt that the king would not but miss his own, smaller, Dawn Treader. Even Trumpkin himself missed the ship - like the others, he had invested his time and his energy into getting Narnia back out onto the water, and even if he had not sailed, he took his own pride in seeing that ship go and return.

"The king!" hissed one of the sailors, and as if on cue, the trumpets sounded. The gangplank came down, and Trumpkin watched as his old friend and king came towards the dock, leaning heavily on the younger Darby. He winced; in ten years Caspian had aged far more than he had in the years preceding.

The king spoke to his people, his voice old and cracked. The aged crew of the Dawn Treader looked wistfully at the large ship and at the king, and then cheered the loudest of all the people gathered when the king finished speaking.

The king now turned to the ship, the sailors gathered at the foot of the gangplank. "Well." The king smiled as the sailors around him doffed their caps and bowed. "I'm afraid I've been so far from sea for so long I may be a landlubber." He straightened, and Trumpkin smiled to see the king look reinvigorated by the sea air and the entire prospect of the voyage. He had always been so fond of the sea. "The quest we now take is no less important than the one I took so many, many years ago. I entrust myself to you, gentlemen."

"Your Majesty," the men murmured.

The king turned to Trumpkin, bussing him on both cheeks and bidding him a fond farewell. Trumpkin sat up in his chair, his face as stolid and curmudgeonly as it always was, an expression of fierce loyalty on his features. "A safe voyage, Your Majesty."

"My dear Trumpkin." The king smiled, then turned towards the gangplank, navigating it ever so slowly, leaning heavily on one of the sailors.

Behind him, the other sailors climbed aboard.

Darby watched the king go up, and suddenly the young man seemed nervous and upset. He turned around to the lord regent, looking less like a sea captain and more like the little boy who used to run around the castle with the prince, frog in hand. "Will we actually find him?" Darby swallowed. "It seems to me a rather hopeless chase, just to try to find Aslan based on a sighting. He could be anywhere!"

"His Majesty wants to do what is best for Narnia," Trumpkin replied, echoing a lesson he had learned from Drinian so long ago. "Aslan would not hide himself from one who only seeks to honor him."

He took a deep breath. "Even more so - when we see Aslan," the dwarf continued, "we must follow." He thought back many, many years to the young queen regnant. He had often thought of the Queen Lucy in the years afterwards, hoping to have the same faith she had had. "We follow the Lion, even if it means leaving all others behind and going on alone."

Darby swallowed, then nodded. He bowed to Trumpkin, gripping his hand tightly. "Thank you, Lord Trumpkin."

Trumpkin sniffled, then shooed him away. "Be off, now, you. You don't want to make the king wait." Darby bowed again, gripping the dwarf's right hand in his own in a farewell handshake, and Trumpkin felt a wave of deja vu; had he not done the same with the father ages ago?

The moment was gone when Darby let go and turned, and then bounded up the gangplank. The dwarf watched until the ship had sailed out of sight.

* (William Blake, "Songs of Experience," "Tyger") 


	11. Rilian, Part 2

**The Daughter of the Star**  
by Sammie

DISCLAIMER: Not mine.

RATING: K+

* * *

KING RILIAN

The very old Lord Trumpkin sat in his chair to Rilian's right. The scene was all too familiar to the new king, as Narnians filed by to pay their respects to their passed king and honor their new one.

The king is dead, Rilian thought numbly. Long live the king.

A young, strong faun trotted up and paused, gazing one last time upon the face of the only king he had ever known. His eyes were wet, but tears did not fall. The faun turned to Trumpkin, then stopped before the new king, executing a deep bow. "Your Majesty," he said, his voice clear and strong but sorrowful.

Rilian blinked, feeling a strong sense of deja vu wash over him. "You came to my mother's funeral," he said when the faun had finished what he wanted to say. Rilian could feel the astonished eyes of Trumpkin on him.

The faun looked surprised. "Yes, Sire, but I imagine that most of Narnia did as well."

Rilian smiled. "No." He repeated back to the now older faun what he had said ten years ago, the words about his wife which had so moved the now deceased king. The faun blushed like the little child he no longer was, both pleased and flattered at having been remembered.

"The disenchantment is complete," Trumpkin said in a voice that was clearly meant to be a whisper (but was rather louder than that). "You remember your mother's funeral."

"Yes," Rilian replied quietly. "I remember it all."

* * *

Rilian rushed out, down the stairs of the grand entrance to Cair Paravel, to greet the old sailors. The Dawn Treader crew members, the ones who still lived, had made the trek to his father's funeral and then to pay their respects to the new king and son of their dear friend. Tonight was Sir Rynelf and Sir Rhince.

For the first time Rilian understood (some) how important it was to his father to find the lost lords his granduncle Miraz had exiled: the loyalty to the father transferred to avuncular affection and faithfulness to the son. Like Lord Trumpkin, the Dawn Treader crew were not only his father's precious companions, but men who had cared deeply for his father's welfare as well as that of Rilian himself and of his late mother. There were few people he could trust as much as them. "Sir Rhince," he greeted the first.

The old man beamed, the youthful twinkle in his eyes belying the white hair and the weathered, wrinkled face. "Sire." He executed a deep bow, stiffened only by his joints.

"None of that," Rilian laughed as he hurried forward to greet his father's old sailing mate. "Sir Rynelf."

"The very same, your Majesty."

"Come, come!" The king beamed, leading the two men up into his own, private study.

They chatted amiably, and Rilian felt, for the first time, his sadness dissipate. He could see why his father had, for years and years, continued to welcome the visits from that crew. They shared with him a singularly unique experience, even if they differed in class and speech and everything else, and their joviality rejuvenated him.

"Your father was the best," Rhince replied stoutly. "And his son will be just like him."

"So we can only hope," Rilian replied dryly. "But I am afraid there will be only one Caspian the Tenth."

"Of course there'll only be one. The next one would be the Eleventh," Rynelf pointed out in a deadpan voice. Rhince punched him lightly in the arm.

"I'm glad he got to see you again," Rhince said next, turning back to the young king. "He was so distraught when he lost you as well."

Rilian sighed. "What fools women make of men," he muttered darkly. "I lost ten years with my father. In one month I made him as alone, without family, as he was before he ascended the throne."

"If Your Majesty doesn't mind my saying so," Rynelf replied stoutly, "you're not to blame. And he did see you - alive, well, and healthy - before he passed."

Rilian shook his head. He was not yet ready to forgive himself for his mistake; as horrible as his own ten years were, every night as he sat in that silver chair, he mourned for Narnia and for his father, all alone in Cair Paravel. His father had been so grief-stricken at the loss of his mother that Rilian was sure his father would not remarry; he had not been wrong on that count. In those family quarters at night, his father had had nobody - nobody but Aslan.

"Well," he said quietly, "he is well again, now, in Aslan's country. And he is with my mother."

The two men grew quiet, and the three sat in silence for a moment, contemplating the thought.

Suddenly Rhince snorted in laughter. "Your High - Majesty will forgive my saying so, but..." he couldn't hold back another laugh. "Rynelf, you remember the good king, how besotted he was with her when we were wintering on her father's island?"

The two men roared with laughter, and Rilian joined them, for the first time the pain of the loss of his parents fading even though he was thinking of them.

"He was just like a man out of his mind," Rynelf chortled. "Couldn't keep his eyes off of her, you know. I don't know what happened in their first meeting, but when they came back on the ship, His Majesty the King Edmund just keep teasing him and teasing him about her, and he'd get all red-faced."

"He was completely oblivious when she was around," Rhince laughed. "We could have set the ship on fire and danced on our heads and he wouldn't have noticed, especially the first month."

"Oh, but she was so beautiful. Really wise, you know." Rynelf stopped, thoughtfully. "She was one of those people - she never made you feel less, and she always made you feel like somebody cherished - but with her you just knew - she was a real lady - a great lady."

"Your pa chose well," Rhince said softly.

"Or Aslan chose well," Rilian replied dryly, his eyes twinkling. "From the sound of it, my father was a besotted fool." This set off the two older sailors again, laughing.

"Well," Rhince replied, wiping tears of laughter away. "He was younger than you, you know. Even by a good ten some years. Just barely a man, and he'd been fighting wars and all that. And of course these crazy women, always following him around. And then he met your mother!"

"Speaking of crazy women. Do you remember that morning when the Lord Trumpkin found that gold-digging wench in his bedroom?" Rynelf choked out between laughs. The comment only set off Rhince, who laughed so hard he started wheezing, and Rynelf pounded him (un)helpfully on the back.

Rilian quickly poured a drink for each man, smiling for the first time in years at their mirth.

"Oh, thank you." Rhince downed the drink. "Ah."

"Tell me this story. I haven't heard this one." Rilian pulled up his chair.

"Well, I can see why the king and the queen - Aslan rest their kind souls - didn't tell you," Rhince huffed. "It's rather unsavory, but it is hilarious."

"It was the week before we were to sail, you know," Rynelf said eagerly. "Some nobleman from the Seven Isles made this unexpected visit. Your father was rather put out, since we had so many preparations to make."

"Turns out the sod couldn't get his daughter married off," Rhince continued, "and was trying to fix it so it looked like the king compromised her, and then he'd have to marry her. He'd chosen this specific time."

"Knowing my father would be busy and distracted with the upcoming voyage," Rilian surmised.

"Exactly. Stupid man somehow got his daughter dressed like an upstairs maid and sent off to 'clean' the king's bedroom. He was going to wait nearby to 'catch' them together. But, by providential arrangement, your father hadn't slept in his bedroom in a week; he'd been overseeing last-minute changes on the Dawn Treader and staying in his cabin."

"He was really rather excited about the whole trip," Rynelf explained.

"The Lord Trumpkin was sent to gather some last minute papers from the king's ante-room that morning, heard somebody in the bedroom, and entered swinging that sword he used to be so good with." Rhince grinned, pausing for dramatic effect.

Rilian started to laugh, and then thought more about the scene, and then started laughing harder.

"Let's just say that wasn't what the girl was suspecting. She screamed, Trumpkin shouted, her father came running. Correction - the entire household came running. Dumnus was there," Rhince added. "So were Rynelf and me. We were transporting all the food, you know; victuals are important. We just happened to be there. Imagine the entire household of Cair Paravel squeezed into the hallway outside your parents' room!"

"There she was," Rynelf chortled, "dressed in this completely inappropriate tunic - it covered nothing! - and backed against a table, and Trumpkin had her pinned there at the end of his sword. She was entirely afraid to budge because she might bump into his sword."

"Do you remember her father?" Rhince snickered. "He just kept screaming and hollering and waving his arms instead of trying to, you know, fend off Lord Trumpkin. He might have salvaged some of his daughter's reputation if he'd manage to get rid of Trumpkin and get his daughter somewhere hidden before everybody showed up, but - "

" - he panicked and yelled instead, bringing the entire house down," Rilian finished.

"I think everybody down to the soapmaker was there," Rhince laughed.

"I know the boy who tended the pigs was," Rynelf grinned. "He came running up the stairs with one of the piglets in his arms, the thing squealing all the way up."

"The Lord Trumpkin was so furious; he kept shouting all kinds of threats." Rhince frowned, turning to his old shipmate. "Who went to the ship? Was it you?"

"Yeah, it was me," Rynelf replied. "Dumnus suggested somebody go get the king, and so I went. When I said something about a girl in his room and Trumpkin having her at swordpoint, his entire face went white. When we arrived back here, the hallway was so packed we could barely get in."

"At least, in the meantime, Trumpkin had allowed the girl enough leeway to cover herself," Rhince added. "The king came in, didn't say a thing - just glared and glared. Didn't say a word to the father or to the daughter. Had Trumpkin and Dumnus put them under lock and key in one of the Cair rooms, and the king spent the night on the ship."

"The next day, when the king heard their case, the entire court was there," Rynelf snickered. "He had tried to send them away, but they just hung around outside. And he tried to occupy us with tasks on the Dawn Treader, but we just rushed through them and stood right outside the door, listening in. And one of the stablehands was giving a blow-by-blow to the staff."

Rhince added. "Let's just say that that family's never dared show their face in public again, and Lord Trumpkin got another title and some more land from your father."

"Good night. Father said he'd been chased, but I didn't realize how bad."

"Yes, well." Rynelf shook his head. "He was single, handsome, and a king." The old sailor wagged a finger at the new king. "You be careful."

"He hated it all," Rhince said thoughtfully. "Getting away from all that was part of his delight in sailing. That, of course, and being on the sea - and most of all, because of your mother. Captain Drinian used to say that she was the best thing to come out of that voyage."

"Speaking of Drinian." Rilian rose, rifling through a large portfolio of papers. "I was going through the papers and found a file on my disappearance." He paused, then said quietly, "The Lord Trumpkin pretends he can't hear me when I ask. How many Narnians died searching for me?"

The two old sailors exchanged looks, then looked down at the floor.

"How many," Rilian demanded, narrowing his eyes. He heard an under-the-breath mumbling about a "Miraz look".

"We don't have a count, Your Majesty. The Lord Trumpkin would know best. But several."

Rilian took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose, then brought over a scrap of old parchment. "I found this account, written in Drinian's handwriting, dated three days after I did not return." He held up two pages of text, then a picture of the witch, which was of a very striking likeness. Drinian had had an excellent memory.

Rynelf gave a small whistle. "She's quite beautiful."

"Beauty is as beauty does," Rilian replied shortly. He ought to know. His mother's radiance had come from her faithfulness and service to Aslan, a beauty his father had recognized. He himself had been duped into thinking that physical beauty would equate with a excellent spirit.

He handed the two sailors a parchment which had very little on it except a few lines. It was written in the Lord Drinian's familiar, strong script, but Rilian could not make heads or tails of it. "I don't understand this."

"Her lips were red, her looks were free,  
Her locks were yellow as gold:  
Her skin was as white as leprosy,  
The Night-mare Life-in-Death was she,  
Who thicks man's blood with cold.

'The game is done! I've won! I've won!'  
Quoth she, and whistles thrice." *

Rhince poured over his late captain's writing, then handed the sheet to Rynelf. "You know what it means," Rilian intoned, seeing the looks on their faces.

"Life-in-Death," Rynelf began quietly, "is a legend among sailors."

"And this legend?"

"The story goes that - there was a crew, which runs into trouble - blown into ice and trapped. At length, an albatross comes through the fog; the ice splits and the ship goes free, running on the wind." Rhince paused. "Then the sailor shoots the albatross with a crossbow. The winds die, and there is nothing to move the ship. Presently they see a ship come, and on board is Death and a Woman."

"Life-in-Death," Rilian intoned.

"The entire crew dies, save this one sailor, who is condemned to tell his story for the rest of his life, wandering from place to place."

"Life-in-Death," Rilian murmured, a cold chill coming over him, feeling as though the black armor were back on him, feeling the walls of dirt coming back over him. "Living, but dead in other ways."

"That is the story, Sire." The two sailors looked at each other uncomfortably.

Rilian was aware that all of Narnia knew the story of his enchantment and of his disenchantment, his father's old sailors included. Drinian's quote was more real than the former sea captain would ever knew. "Who knew the Lord Drinian was a prophet," he joked darkly.

[ v d t ]

The three men chatted long into the night, and Rilian had guest rooms prepared for them in the castle. As he himself walked up the stairs to his own bedroom, he passed his parents' chamber. He had walked past it two days in a row, unable to go in. He stopped in front of the door now, his head bowed slightly, his hand hovering above the latch.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a maid at the end of the hallway, eyeing him oddly. She skittered away when he turned his head slightly in her direction. He opened the door and went in.

The bed was turned down on his father's side, as if still waiting for the king. His father had continued to sleep on the left side of the bed, where he had always slept. Rilian could see the stacks of books he had there on the nightstand, and the candlestick. It all looked as if it were simply waiting - waiting for somebody who would neither return nor ever have need of it again.

Rilian walked over, running his fingers along the coverlet, along the pillows, and then over his father's things. Grief and regret washed over him. He had disappeared so soon after his mother's death that he had never really known how his father had lived in the intervening ten years, though he had often wondered as he sat there, strapped into that silver chair. Life in death, indeed.

He turned around, then moved to the right side of the bed, his mother's side. In some ways, his mother's death felt just as fresh to him as his father's. He had had barely the time to mourn her when he had become enchanted, and although he knew intellectually ten years had passed, in some ways, emotionally, it was just some weeks ago. Right now it felt as though he had lost them both together.

His mother's side of the bed, was, surprisingly, in many ways as fresh as his father's side of the bed. The covers were not turned down, and his mother's shoes were no longer by the bed, but her books did not appear to have been moved. They had been dusted clean. Her sleeping gown had been folded neatly and set on the bed, as it had every night that Rilian could remember, waiting for the queen to come and change.

Rilian opened the door into the shared closet, which led out to two separate dressing rooms. He opened the closet and found his parents' clothes still there, folded or hanging, side by side. His father had been unable to get rid of his mother's clothes. Even the last thing the king had been wearing - the clothes he wore as they carried him down from the ship and when he passed - had been hung back up into the closet, freshly laundered.

As Rilian brushed past, something dropped, and he crouched down to pick it up: his father's handkerchief, the one he always carried in his coat pocket. It must have been in the clothes he had been wearing the day of his return; somebody must have put it back into the pocket once the clothes had been laundered. There was something hard inside the cloth.

He carefully unfolded it, and inside was a gold locket - his mother's locket, which had been his father's first gift to her. The delicate engraving on it had been rubbed until it was nearly gone; when they were together at home in their family quarters, his mother in his father's arms, the latter used to run his thumb over it absently. Rilian could still almost see them together there, sitting in that settee across the room.

Rilian opened his mother's locket to find a lock of his hair on one side, and one of his father's on the other.

He stumbled to his parents' bed and sat down hard on the mattress, his eyes filling with tears. He quickly snapped the locket back shut before he could damage it and lay down on his side on his parents' bed.

_He went like one that hath been stunned,  
And is of sense forlorn:  
A sadder and a wiser man  
He rose the morrow morn._ *

* "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner", Samuel Coleridge 


	12. Caspian

**The Daughter of the Star**  
by Sammie

DISCLAIMER: Not mine.

RATING: K+

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The interpretation of marriage in heaven comes from Saint Tertullian's understanding of the Matthean statement that no one is given or taken in marriage, in _De Monogamia_.

There was once a challenge in another fandom ("Doctor Who" or "NCIS" - cannot remember which) to write a love story without using "love". While this is neither of those fandoms, I thought it a fantastic challenge. I've fulfilled the latter requirement and not used the word, but I hope that this one has fulfilled the former requirement as well.

Thank you for sticking through to the very end, and please drop me a note whether or not you liked it. While it's very flattering to be put on "story alert" and "author alert" lists, we writers can't tell if we're on alerts because you like the writing or if it's so bad you want to read each chapter for a laugh. ;-D

Happy reading, and of course, HAPPY "DAWN TREADER" VIEWING!

* * *

CASPIAN

Aslan's country is more than he ever imagined - and he'd spent many days imagining it after Reepicheep had left the Dawn Treader and many more after his wife's death.

His wife.

His steps quicken, and he turns his head slightly to look at Aslan, walking beside him. The large lion looks amused. "Is it wrong...?"

There is a small chuckle, and the Lion replies with the same thing he'd said before: "You cannot want wrong things any more."

The question now turning in his head would normally make him blush, but he feels no shame now for asking. Odd - he no longer seems to wish to ask.

The lion nods. "Yes, it is true. What I have joined, let no man tear asunder; and I have no intention of it, either. In my country nobody marries or is given in marriage, but nor will you ever forget your relationship. It will be greater, purer, and more fulfilling here in my country than that which you had."

He can only stare, marveling at it all, taking it in for a moment. Then his thoughts turn back to his bride, and he can hear the Lion laughing. "Go on, my son."

As they approach, he sees a group waiting, and before they are even visible he knows who will be there: Reepicheep, Argoz, Revilian, Drinian, the dear Badger, Peepiceek - the list is endless.

His wife.

The group moves forward, but one breaks from them. She runs forward, stopping only to greet Aslan before turning to her husband.

She is as beautiful as he always remembered, and the images of her pale, still body are gone in the instant he sees her: vibrant, bright-eyed, merry. She appears as she did at the height of her physical strength and health, but her eyes are as old as they always were - full of wisdom and gentleness and laughter. In every respect she seems both older and younger in an inexplicably uncontradictory manner.

He makes no motion towards her, as stunned by seeing her now as he was when they first met. She teases him: "Do you not recognize me? I certainly hope that those ten Narnian years have not erased all traces of me from your memory."

A laugh bursts out from him, and he grabs his wife by the waist, swinging her into the air with a joyful shout. He can't even describe how she feels - it is not anything that is describable. When their meeting is finally over, Caspian turns to see even more waiting at the gate - including King Frank and Queen Helen, Kings Lune and Cor, Queen Aravis, Prince Corin, the Lords Dar and Darin, Queen Swanwhite - the list goes on. They are all the people he has read about and sought to emulate, here right before him, alive. He isn't sure what to say.

And he sees the children he and his wife have lost. He braces himself instinctively for the wave of grief that came with every loss, but there is none this time, as though his tears have been wiped away. Replaced is a surge of joy.

His bride waits at his side, patiently, her hand in his. He feels, even more now, how overwhelming his happiness is, and his pain fades away quickly. She was Aslan's gift to him; he was without his parents, simply a convenience (and later not) to his uncle, hunted by gold-digging women, when she came into his life, his first family in many years and his only family for just as many. She was his partner both personal and political, and the mother of his children, even if they know well only the one. Aslan had chosen well for him.

He finds that his feelings are different. He does not feel as a brother feels for a sister, yet he also does not feel exactly as he had when he was her husband, but he feels even more strongly about her now, if that were possible - and he isn't sure how, as he would have willingly died for her when they were married. How he feels - different and even stronger and even greater - is indescribable. The Lion's words ringing in his mind, he looks in astonishment at Aslan, who just shakes his mane a little.

Caspian drinks in the sight of his wife, alive and happy and standing before him, and then turns to Aslan, who stands there, smiling. "Very well done, my dear, faithful servant," the Lion rumbles in a voice that sounds so large but seems to be an intimate whisper only to him. "Welcome home."

**finis**


End file.
